“You will have rivals here, women far more astute and shrewd than Amélie; they will not fail to discover who you are, where you are, where you come from, and all that you are doing. You have counted upon your incognito, I see, but you are one of those women for whom an incognito is out of the question. You will meet Angoulême at every turn. There are the deputies from the Charente coming up for the opening of the session; there is the Commandant in Paris on leave. Why, the first man or woman from Angoulême who happens to see you would cut your career short in a strange fashion. You would simply be Lucien’s mistress. “If you néed me at any time, I am staying with the Receiver-General in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore, two steps away from Mme. d’Espard’s. I am sufficiently acquainted with the Maréchale de Carigliano, Mme. de Sérizy, and the President of the Council to introduce you to those houses; but you will meet so many people at Mme. d’Espard’s, that you are not likely to require me. So far from wishing to gain admittance to this set or that, every one will be longing to make your acquaintance.” Châtelet talked on; Mme. de Bargeton made no interruption. She was struck with his perspicacity. The queen of Angoulême had, in fact, counted upon preserving her incognito. “You are right, my dear friend,” she said at length; “but what am I to do?” “Allow me to find suitable furnished lodgings for you,” suggested Châtelet; “that way of living is less expensive than an inn. You will have a home of your own; and, if you will take my advice, you will sleep in your new rooms this very night.” “But how did you know my address?” queried she. “Your traveling carriage is easily recognized; and, besides, I was following you. At Sèvres your postilion told mine that he had brought you here. Will you permit me to act as your harbinger? I will write as soon as I have found lodgings.” “Very well, do so,” said she. And in those seemingly insignificant words, all was said. The Baron du Châtelet had spoken the language of worldly wisdom to a woman of the world. He had made his appearance before her in faultless dress, a neat cab was waiting for him at the door; and Mme. de Bargeton, standing by the window thinking over the position, chanced to see the elderly dandy drive away. A few moments later Lucien appeared, half awake and hastily dressed. He was handsome, it is true; but his clothes, his last year’s nankeen trousers, and his shabby tight jacket were ridiculous. Put Antinous or the Apollo Belvedere himself into a water-carrier’s blouse, and how shall you recognize the godlike creature of the Greek or Roman chisel? The eyes note and compare before the heart has time to revise the swift involuntary judgment; and the contrast between Lucien and Châtelet was so abrupt that it could not fail to strike Louise.