“He has found a friend in a very rich Spanish priest who has taken a fancy to him,” replied Rastignac. “He is going to be married to the eldest Mademoiselle de Grandlieu,” said Mademoiselle des Touches. “Yes,” said the Chevalier d’Espard, “but they require him to buy an estate worth thirty thousand francs a year as security for the fortune he is to settle on the young lady, and for that he needs a million francs, which are not to be found in any Spaniard’s shoes.” “That is dear, for Clotilde is very ugly,” said the Baroness. Madame de Nucingen affected to call Mademoiselle de Grandlieu by her Christian name, as though she, nee Goriot, frequented that society. “No,” replied du Tillet, “the daughter of a duchess is never ugly to the like of us, especially when she brings with her the title of Marquis and a diplomatic appointment. But the great obstacle to the marriage is Madame de Serizy’s insane passion for Lucien. She must give him a great deal of money.” “Then I am not surprised at seeing Lucien so serious; for Madame de Serizy will certainly not give him a million francs to help him to marry Mademoiselle de Grandlieu. He probably sees no way out of the scrape,” said de Marsay. “But Mademoiselle de Grandlieu worships him,” said the Comtesse de Montcornet; “and with the young person’s assistance, he may perhaps make better terms.” “And what will he do with his sister and brother-in-law at Angouleme?” asked the Chevalier d’Espard. “Well, his sister is rich,” replied Rastignac, “and he now speaks of her as Madame Sechard de Marsac.” “Whatever difficulties there may be, he is a very good-looking fellow,” said Bianchon, rising to greet Lucien. “How ‘do, my dear fellow?” said Rastignac, shaking hands warmly with Lucien. De Marsay bowed coldly after Lucien had first bowed to him. Before dinner Desplein and Bianchon, who studied the Baron while amusing him, convinced themselves that this malady was entirely nervous; but neither could guess the cause, so impossible did it seem that the great politician of the money market could be in love. When Bianchon, seeing nothing but love to account for the banker’s condition, hinted as much to Delphine de Nucingen, she smiled as a woman who has long known all her husband’s weaknesses. After dinner, however, when they all adjourned to the garden, the more intimate of the party gathered round the banker, eager to clear up this extraordinary case when they heard Bianchon pronounce that Nucingen must be in love. “Do you know, Baron,” said de Marsay, “that you have grown very thin? You are suspected of violating the laws of financial Nature.” “Ach, nefer!” said the Baron. “Yes, yes,” replied de Marsay. “They dare to say that you are in love.” “Dat is true,” replied Nucingen piteously; “I am in lof for somebody I do not know.” “You, in love, you? You are a coxcomb!” said the Chevalier d’Espard. “In lof, at my aje! I know dat is too ridiculous. But vat can I help it! Dat is so.”