Mme. de Senonches had told her intimate friends that her ward would meet her betrothed that evening, and that Mme. du Châtelet would appear at the Hôtel de Senonches for the first time; and having particularly requested them to keep these matters secret, she expected to find her rooms crowded. The Comte and Comtesse du Châtelet had left cards everywhere officially, but they meant the honor of a personal visit to play a part in their policy. So aristocratic Angoulême was in such a prodigious ferment of curiosity, that certain of the Chandour camp proposed to go to the Hôtel de Bargeton that evening. (They persistently declined to call the house by its new name.) Proofs of the Countess’ influence had stirred up ambition in many quarters; and not only so, it was said that the lady had changed so much for the better that everybody wished to see and judge for himself. Petit-Claud learned great news on the way to the house; Cointet told him that Zéphirine had asked leave to present her dear Françoise’s betrothed to the Countess, and that the Countess had granted the favor. Petit-Claud had seen at once that Lucien’s return put Louise de Nègrepelisse in a false position; and now, in a moment, he flattered himself that he saw a way to take advantage of it. M. and Mme. de Senonches had undertaken such heavy engagements when they bought the house, that, in provincial fashion, they thought it imprudent to make any changes in it. So when Madame du Châtelet was announced, Zéphirine went up to her with--“Look, dear Louise, you are still in your old home!” indicating, as she spoke, the little chandelier, the paneled wainscot, and the furniture, which once had dazzled Lucien. “I wish least of all to remember it, dear,” Madame la Préfète answered graciously, looking round on the assemblage. Every one admitted that Louise de Nègrepelisse was not like the same woman. If the provincial had undergone a change, the woman herself had been transformed by those eighteen months in Paris, by the first happiness of a still recent second marriage, and the kind of dignity that power confers. The Comtesse du Châtelet bore the same resemblance to Mme. de Bargeton that a girl of twenty bears to her mother. She wore a charming cap of lace and flowers, fastened by a diamond-headed pin; the ringlets that half hid the contours of her face added to her look of youth, and suited her style of beauty. Her foulard gown, designed by the celebrated Victorine, with a pointed bodice, exquisitely fringed, set off her figure to advantage; and a silken lace scarf, adroitly thrown about a too long neck, partly concealed her shoulders. She played with the dainty scent-bottle, hung by a chain from her bracelet; she carried her fan and her handkerchief with ease--pretty trifles, as dangerous as a sunken reef for the provincial dame. The refined taste shown in the least details, the carriage and manner modeled upon Mme. d’Espard, revealed a profound study of the Faubourg Saint-Germain.