“By the way,” exclaimed the Duc de Grandlieu, “what is your man’s name? I must mention it to Derville. Send him to me to-morrow by five o’clock; I will have Derville here and put them in communication.” “His real name,” said M. de Chaulieu, “is, I think, Corentin--a name you must never have heard, for my gentleman will come ticketed with his official name. He calls himself Monsieur de Saint-Something--Saint Yves--Saint-Valere?--Something of the kind.--You may trust him; Louis XVIII. had perfect confidence in him.” After this confabulation the steward had orders to shut the door on Monsieur de Rubempre--which was done. Lucien paced the waiting-room at the opera-house like a man who was drunk. He fancied himself the talk of all Paris. He had in the Duc de Rhetore one of those unrelenting enemies on whom a man must smile, as he can never be revenged, since their attacks are in conformity with the rules of society. The Duc de Rhetore knew the scene that had just taken place on the outside steps of the Grandlieus’ house. Lucien, feeling the necessity of at once reporting the catastrophe to his high privy councillor, nevertheless was afraid of compromising himself by going to Esther’s house, where he might find company. He actually forgot that Esther was here, so confused were his thoughts, and in the midst of so much perplexity he was obliged to make small talk with Rastignac, who, knowing nothing of the news, congratulated him on his approaching marriage. At this moment Nucingen appeared smiling, and said to Lucien: “Vill you do me de pleasure to come to see Montame de Champy, vat vill infite you herself to von house-varming party----” “With pleasure, Baron,” replied Lucien, to whom the Baron appeared as a rescuing angel. “Leave us,” said Esther to Monsieur de Nucingen, when she saw him come in with Lucien. “Go and see Madame du Val-Noble, whom I discover in a box on the third tier with her nabob.--A great many nabobs grow in the Indies,” she added, with a knowing glance at Lucien. “And that one,” said Lucien, smiling, “is uncommonly like yours.” “And them,” said Esther, answering Lucien with another look of intelligence, while still speaking to the Baron, “bring her here with her nabob; he is very anxious to make your acquaintance. They say he is very rich. The poor woman has already poured out I know not how many elegies; she complains that her nabob is no good; and if you relieve him of his ballast, perhaps he will sail closer to the wind.” “You tink ve are all tieves!” said the Baron as he went away. “What ails you, my Lucien?” asked Esther in her friend’s ear, just touching it with her lips as soon as the box door was shut. “I am lost! I have just been turned from the door of the Hotel de Grandlieu under pretence that no one was admitted. The Duke and Duchess were at home, and five pairs of horses were champing in the courtyard.”