irrationally, anything becomes them, and it is who shall be first to

justify their conduct; then, on the other hand, there are those on
whom the world is unaccountably severe, they must do everything well,

they are not allowed to fail nor to make mistakes, at their peril they
do anything foolish; you might compare these last to the much-admired

statues which must come down at once from their pedestal if the frost
chips off a nose or a finger. They are not permitted to be human; they

are required to be for ever divine and for ever impeccable. So one
glance exchanged between Mme. de Bargeton and Lucien outweighed twelve

years of Zizine's connection with Francis in the social balance; and a
squeeze of the hand drew down all the thunders of the Charente upon

the lovers.
David had brought a little secret hoard back with him from Paris, and

it was this sum that he set aside for the expenses of his marriage and
for the building of the second floor in his father's house. His

father's house it was; but, after all, was he not working for himself?
It would all be his again some day, and his father was sixty-eight

years old. So David build a timbered second story for Lucien, so as
not to put too great a strain on the old rifted house-walls. He took

pleasure in making the rooms where the fair Eve was to spend her life
as brave as might be.

It was a time of blithe and unmixed happiness for the friends. Lucien
was tired of the shabbiness of provincial life, and weary of the

sordid frugality that looked on a five-franc piece as a fortune, but
he bore the hardships and the pinching thrift without grumbling. His

moody looks had been succeeded by an expression of radiant hope. He
saw the star shining above his head, he had dreams of a great time to

come, and built the fabric of his good fortune on M. de Bargeton's
tomb. M. de Bargeton, troubled with indigestion from time to time,

cherished the happy delusion that indigestion after dinner was a
complaint to be cured by a hearty supper.

By the beginning of September, Lucien had ceased to be a printer's
foreman; he was M. de Rubempre, housed sumptuously in comparison with

his late quarters in the tumbledown attic with the dormer-window,
where "young Chardon" had lived in L'Houmeau; he was not even a "man

of L'Houmeau"; he lived in the heights of Angouleme, and dined four
times a week with Mme. de Bargeton. A friendship had grown up between

M. de Rubempre and the Bishop, and he went to the palace. His
occupations put him upon a level with the highest rank; his name would

be one day among the great names of France; and, in truth, as he went
to and fro in his apartments, the pretty sitting-room, the charming

bedroom, and the tastefully furnished study, he might console himself
for the thought that he drew thirty francs every month out of his

mother's and sister's hard earnings; for he saw the day approaching
when An Archer of Charles IX., the historicalromance on which he had

been at work for two years, and a volume of verse entitled
Marguerites, should spread his fame through the world of literature,

and bring in money enough to repay them all, his mother and sister and
David. So, grown great in his own eyes, and giving ear to the echoes

of his name in the future, he could accept present sacrifices with
noble assurance; he smiled at his poverty, he relished the sense of

these last days of penury.
Eve and David had set Lucien's happiness before their own. They had

put off their wedding, for it took some time to paper and paint their
rooms, and to buy the furniture, and Lucien's affairs had been settled

first. No one who knew Lucien could wonder at their devotion. Lucien
was so engaging, he had such winning ways, his impatience and his

desires were so graciously expressed, that his cause was always won
before he opened his mouth to speak. This unlucky gift of fortune, if

it is the salvation of some, is the ruin of many more. Lucien and his
like find a world predisposed in favor of youth and good looks, and

ready to protect those who give it pleasure with the selfish good-
nature that flings alms to a beggar, if he appeals to the feelings and

awakens emotion; and in this favor many a grown child is content to
bask instead of putting it to a profitable use. With mistaken notions

as to the significance and the motive of social relations they imagine
that they shall always meet with deceptive smiles; and so at last the

moment comes for them when the world leaves them bald, stripped bare,
without fortune or worth, like an elderly coquette by the door of a

salon, or a stray rag in the gutter.
Eve herself had wished for the delay. She meant to establish the

little household on the most economicalfooting, and to buy only
strict necessaries; but what could two lovers refuse to a brother who

watched his sister at her work, and said in tones that came from the
heart, "How I wish I could sew!" The sober, observant David had shared

in the devotion; and yet, since Lucien's triumph, David had watched
him with misgivings; he was afraid that Lucien would change towards

them, afraid that he would look down upon their homely ways. Once or
twice, to try his brother, David had made him choose between home

pleasures and the great world, and saw that Lucien gave up the
delights of vanity for them, and exclaimed to himself, "They will not

spoil him for us!" Now and again the three friends and Mme. Chardon
arranged picnic parties in provincial fashion--a walk in the woods

along the Charente, not far from Angouleme, and dinner out on the
grass, David's apprentice bringing the basket of provisions to some

place appointed before-hand; and at night they would come back, tired
somewhat, but the whole excursion had not cost three francs. On great

occasion, when they dined at a restaurat, as it is called, a sort of a
country inn, a compromise between a provincial wineshop and a Parisian

guinguette, they would spend as much as five francs, divided between
David and the Chardons. David gave his brother infinite credit for

forsaking Mme. de Bargeton and grand dinners for these days in the
country, and the whole party made much of the great man of Angouleme.

Matters had gone so far, that the new home was very nearly ready, and
David had gone over to Marsac to persuade his father to come to the

wedding, not without a hope that the old man might relent at the sight
of his daughter-in-law, and give something towards the heavy expenses

of the alterations, when there befell one of those events which
entirely change the face of things in a small town.

Lucien and Louise had a spy in Chatelet, a spy who watched, with the
persistence of a hate in which avarice and passion are blended, for an

opportunity of making a scandal. Sixte meant that Mme. de Bargeton
should compromise herself with Lucien in such a way that she should be

"lost," as the saying goes; so he posed as Mme. de Bargeton's humble
confidant, admired Lucien in the Rue du Minage, and pulled him to

pieces everywhere else. Nais had gradually given him les petites
entrees, in the language of the court, for the lady no longer

mistrusted her elderlyadmirer; but Chatelet had taken too much for
granted--love was still in the Platonic stage, to the great despair of

Louise and Lucien.
There are, for that matter, love affairs which start with a good or a

bad beginning, as you prefer to take it. Two creatures launch into the
tactics of sentiment; they talk when they should be acting, and

skirmish in the open instead of settling down to a siege. And so they
grow tired of one another, expend their longings in empty space; and,

having time for reflection, come to their own conclusions about each
other. Many a passion that has taken the field in gorgeous array, with

colors flying and an ardor fit to turn the world upside down, has
turned home again without a victory, inglorious and crestfallen,

cutting but a foolish figure after these vain alarums and excursions.
Such mishaps are sometimes due to the diffidence of youth, sometimes

to the demurs of an inexperienced woman, for old players at this game
seldom end in a fiasco of this kind.

Provincial life, moreover, is singularly well calculated to keep
desire unsatisfied and maintain a lover's arguments on the

intellectual plane, while, at the same time, the very obstacles placed
in the way of the sweet intercourse which binds lovers so closely each

to each, hurry ardent souls on towards extrememeasures. A system of
espionage of the most minute and intricate kind underlies provincial

life; every house is transparent, the solace of close friendships
which break no moral law is scarcely allowed; and such outrageously

scandalous constructions are put upon the most innocent human
intercourse, that many a woman's character is taken away without

cause. One here and there, weighed down by her unmerited punishment,
will regret that she has never known to the full the forbidden

felicity for which she is suffering. The world, which blames and
criticises with a superficial knowledge of the patent facts in which a

long inward struggle ends, is in reality a prime agent in bringing
such scandals about; and those whose voices are loudest in