ci-devant young man, slim still at five-and-forty, with a countenance
like a sieve. His cravat was always tied so as to present two menacing

points--one spike reached the height of his right ear, the other
pointeddownwards to the red ribbon of his cross. His coat-tails were

violently at strife. A cut-away waistcoat displayed the ample,
swelling curves of a stiffly-starched shirt fastened by massive gold

studs. His dress, in fact, was exaggerated, till he looked almost like
a living caricature, which no one could behold for the first time with

gravity.
Stanislas looked himself over from top to toe with a kind of

satisfaction; he verified the number of his waistcoat buttons, and
followed the curving outlines of his tight-fitting trousers with fond

glances that came to a standstill at last on the pointed tips of his
shoes. When he ceased to contemplate himself in this way, he looked

towards the nearest mirror to see if his hair still kept in curl;
then, sticking a finger in his waistcoat pocket, he looked about him

at the women with happy eyes, flinging his head back in three-quarters
profile with all the airs of a king of the poultry-yard, airs which

were prodigiously admired by the aristocraticcircle of which he was
the beau. There was a strain of eighteenth century grossness, as a

rule, in his talk; a detestable kind of conversation which procured
him some success with women--he made them laugh. M. du Chatelet was

beginning to give this gentleman some uneasiness; and, as a matter of
fact, since Mme. de Bargeton had taken him up, the lively interest

taken by the women in the Byron of Angouleme was distinctly on the
increase. His coxcomb superciliousness tickled their curiosity; he

posed as the man whom nothing can arouse from his apathy, and his
jaded Sultan airs were like a challenge.

Amelie de Chandour, short, plump, fair-complexioned, and dark-haired,
was a poor actress; her voice was loud, like everything else about

her; her head, with its load of feathers in winter and flowers in
summer, was never still for a moment. She had a fine flow of

conversation, though she could never bring a sentence to an end
without a wheezing accompaniment from an asthma, to which she would

not confess.
M. de Saintot, otherwise Astolphe, President of the Agricultural

Society, a tall, stout, high-colored personage, usually appeared in
the wake of his wife, Elisa, a lady with a countenance like a withered

fern, called Lili by her friends--a baby name singularly at variance
with its owner's character and demeanor. Mme. de Saintot was a solemn

and extremely pious woman, and a very tryingpartner at a game of
cards. Astolphe was supposed to be a scientific man of the first rank.

He was as ignorant as a carp, but he had compiled the articles on
Sugar and Brandy for a Dictionary of Agriculture by wholesale plunder

of newspaper articles and pillage of previous writers. It was believed
all over the department that M. Saintot was engaged upon a treatise on

modern husbandry; but though he locked himself into his study every
morning, he had not written a couple of pages in a dozen years. If

anybody called to see him, he always contrived to be discovered
rummaging among his papers, hunting for a stray note or mending a pen;

but he spent the whole time in his study on puerilities, reading the
newspaper through from end to end, cutting figures out of corks with

his penknife, and drawing patterns on his blotting-paper. He would
turn over the leaves of his Cicero to see if anything applicable to

the events of the day might catch his eye, and drag his quotation by
the heels into the conversation that evening saying, "There is a

passage in Cicero which might have been written to suit modern times,"
and out came his phrase, to the astonishment of his audience.

"Really," they said among themselves, "Astolphe is a well of
learning." The interesting fact circulated all over the town, and

sustained the general belief in M. de Saintot's abilities.
After this pair came M. de Bartas, known as Adrien among the circle.

It was M. de Bartas who boomed out his song in a bass voice, and made
prodigious claims to musical knowledge. His self-conceit had taken a

stand upon solfeggi; he began by admiring his appearance while he
sang, passed thence to talking about music, and finally to talking of

nothing else. His musical tastes had become a monomania; he grew
animated only on the one subject of music; he was miserable all

evening until somebody begged him to sing. When he had bellowed one of
his airs, he revived again; strutted about, raised himself on his

heels, and received compliments with a deprecating air; but modesty
did not prevent him from going from group to group for his meed of

praise; and when there was no more to be said about the singer, he
returned to the subject of the song, discussing its difficulties or

extolling the composer.
M. Alexandre de Brebian performed heroic exploits in sepia; he

disfigured the walls of his friends' rooms with a swarm of crude
productions, and spoiled all the albums in the department. M.

Alexandre de Brebian and M. de Bartas came together, each with his
friend's wife on his arm, a cross-cornered arrangement which gossip

declared to be carried out to the fullest extent. As for the two
women, Mesdames Charlotte de Brebian and Josephine de Bartas, or

Lolotte and Fifine, as they were called, both took an equal interest
in a scarf, or the trimming of a dress, or the reconciliation of

several irreconcilable colors; both were eaten up with a desire to
look like Parisiennes, and neglected their homes, where everything

went wrong. But if they dressed like dolls in tightly-fitting gowns of
home manufacture, and exhibited outrageous combinations of crude

colors upon their persons, their husbands availed themselves of the
artist's privilege and dressed as they pleased, and curious it was to

see the provincial dowdiness of the pair. In their threadbare clothes
they looked like the supernumeraries that represent rank and fashion

at stage weddings in third-rate theatres.
One of the queerest figures in the rooms was M. le Comte de Senonches,

known by the aristocratic name of Jacques, a mightyhunter, lean and
sunburned, a haughty gentleman, about as amiable as a wild boar, as

suspicious as a Venetian, and jealous as a Moor, who lived on terms of
the friendliest and most perfect intimacy with M. du Hautoy, otherwise

Francis, the friend of the house.
Madame de Senonches (Zephirine) was a tall, fine-looking woman, though

her complexion was spoiled already by pimples due to liver complaint,
on which grounds she was said to be exacting. With a slender figure

and delicate proportions, she could afford to indulge in languid
manners, savoring somewhat of affectation, but revealing passion and

the consciousness that every least caprice will be gratified by love.
Francis, the house friend, was rather distinguished-looking. He had

given up his consulship in Valence, and sacrificed his diplomatic
prospects to live near Zephirine (also known as Zizine) in Angouleme.

He had taken the household in charge, he superintended the children's
education, taught them foreign languages, and looked after the

fortunes of M. and Mme. de Senonches with the most complete devotion.
Noble Angouleme, administrative Angouleme, and bourgeois Angouleme

alike had looked askance for a long while at this phenomenon of the
perfect union of three persons; but finally the mysterious conjugal

trinity appeared to them so rare and pleasing a spectacle, that if M.
du Hautoy had shown any intention of marrying, he would have been

thought monstrously immoral. Mme. de Senonches, however, had a lady
companion, a goddaughter, and her excessiveattachment to this Mlle.

de la Haye was beginning to raise surmises of disquieting mysteries;
it was thought, in spite of some impossible discrepancies in dates,

that Francoise de la Haye bore a strikinglikeness to Francis du
Hautoy.

When "Jacques" was shooting in the neighborhood, people used to
inquire after Francis, and Jacques would discourse on his steward's

little ailments, and talk of his wife in the second place. So curious
did this blindness seem in a man of jealoustemper, that his greatest

friends used to draw him out on the topic for the amusement of others
who did not know of the mystery. M. du Hautoy was a finical dandy

whose minute care of himself had degenerated into mincing affectation
and childishness. He took an interest in his cough, his appetite, his

digestion, his night's rest. Zephirine had succeeded in making a
valetudinarian of her factotum; she coddled him and doctored him; she

crammed him with delicate fare, as if he had been a fine lady's lap-
dog; she embroidered waistcoats for him, and pocket-handkerchiefs and

cravats until he became so used to wearing finery that she transformed
him into a kind of Japanese idol. Their understanding was perfect. In

season and out of season Zizine consulted Francis with a look, and
Francis seemed to take his ideas from Zizine's eyes. They frowned and

smiled together, and seemingly took counsel of each other before
making the simplest commonplace remark.

The largest landowner in the neighborhood, a man whom every one
envied, was the Marquis de Pimentel; he and his wife, between them,

had an income of forty thousand livres, and spent their winters in
Paris. This evening they had driven into Angouleme in their caleche,

and had brought their neighbors, the Baron and Baroness de Rastignac
and their party, the Baroness' aunt and daughters, two charming young