his brilliant eyes on Lucien. 'Do I, by some happy chance, know the address of the lady of your affections? Can I be of use to you in any affair of literature or of love? I like your look. I am your most obedient humble servant. I will even read one of the half-dozen plays in manuscript, which are no doubt lying in your drawer at this moment-mind—I say one!' 'I will not put your friendship to so severe a test, sir,' said Lucien, laughing shyly; 'but' 'Well, go on. I am weary of But. There is no word in the world that is used so often.' 'Can you tell me where I may find madame de Feuchères? Can you tell me who she is?' For once Théo forgot himself. He whistled-and his whistle awoke Dom Mar. 'Traitor! thief! assassin!' he cried, starting up furiously. You have lost me ten thousand francs. If I had kept awake, I should have followed out the thread of a story that would have brought me at least that sum, without the later editions. You have made me miss interviews with bankers-editors-duchesses -I shall be too late to take up a note. That fatal sleep may cost me millions.' 'Hush, Dom Mar,' said Théo in a whisper. There are things more important than money. This young man wishes to know who madame de Feuchères is.' Dom Mar fell instantly into a silence which was even more full of astonishment than Théo's whistle. 'Well, who is she, Théo?' he said at last. 'You are fond of definitions. Define this lady.' She is, or she appears to be, the eternal Helen, the everlasting other man's wife, the thing behind the bars that everybody desires and no one gets. I am not sure that everybody desires her quite so much since the month of September, 1829, though, eh?' 'What have you to do with her, young man?' asked Balzac abruptly. 'I do not know who I am,' said Lucien. 'My friend, the marquis de Civrac, does not know. He thinks that madame de Feuchères does.' 'It is certain that she knows many strange things,' Balzac said, in slow, reflective tones. 'De Civrac told you to seek her out? I remember him of old. An out-and-out classic, but a fine fellow for all that. Not a touch of the bourgeois about him. Curious advice, though, to give a young man! Most people think she murdered the late Duke of Condé in the month of September, 1829.' 'No, no, Dom Mar!' said Théo,' that is not proven. Alexandre Dumas had it from the doctor, that it was bonâ-fide suicide on the part of the old duke.' 6 Ca n'empêche pas. She had made his life intolerable for some time beforehand.' 'You do not credit the rumour that she wanted to insist on his marrying her?' 'No, there is something more in it; and what that something may be, Louis-Philippe is afraid to inquire. Bah! the age is degenerate! Grave suspicions of foul play-and the last of the Condés! It would have been an affair of the scaffold in any age but this.' 'The little duchess is mad; but she did well to reject that legacy for her son. If Louis-Philippe had kept his hands equally clean 'He would have been in gaol, and Henri Cinq on the throne this day, my friend. Madame de Feuchères has made and unmade Kings before now.' 'How is this fellow here to get sight of her?' said Théo. 'I do not know; I have no power.' 'Nonsense! You are acquainted with every suspicious character in Paris. Look at his face! You can see at a glance what may depend on it.' 'I saw that when he came into the room. is not easy to see.' But she 'You are talking for talking's sake. You have arranged more difficult affairs than that.' Balzac reflected. At last he turned kindly to Lucien. 'Trust me a little further. Tell me what you know of yourself. At present I have nothing with which to persuade her. If I had your story, I could repeat it. I can tell a story-sometimes-in a way that makes people listen.' Once more Lucien told of the stormy night at the mill, of the strangers and the strange words, of the key and the snuff-box. He was growing very tired of it. 'Thank-you!' said Balzac, when he had finished. 'I can make her listen to that. I could have done with less. What a fortune for a young man to enter on life with such a story! No woman could resist it. You go to the play to-morrow night, of course? You mean to dance at the ball here afterwards? Well, then, come to my house, rue Cassini, near the Observatory, half an hour after midnight. Forgive me for recommending you to take precautions. I am a marked man; I cannot come and go like others. No? Kindly ring the bell seven times, and when the porter appears, say to him, "Caviare is in season now." Directly after, you will meet my valet on the stairs. Say to him, "I have a snuff-box for the lady." There will be a maid on the first landing, and you will just let fall the words, " Monsieur de Civrac is quite well." I hope he is quite well, by the way? We thought he was killed at la Pénissière.' 'He is quite well, thank-you.' 'I am delighted to hear it! I met a friend of his three days ago, who told me for certain that he was dead. Now let us talk of real things! What do you think of my "Firmiani," Théo? CHAPTER XXXVI 'LE ROI S'AMUSE' 'WHAT are they hissing now?' 'Paul Veronese. The costume was designed from the double-bass in "The Marriage of Cana."' 'Kings must not appear in dressing-gowns-do you see? Louis-Philippe never does.' 'Hang Louis-Philippe!' 'With all my heart; but he was nearly shot to-night.' 'The devil! I got in late. Was that the reason. of the icy stillness after the first Act?' 'It was. Not good taste to feel much interested when the King had escaped with his life, you know! Besides, they hated our singing the Marseillaise. Prévost de Saint-Marc refused to sing, by the way. I believe the boy is a Legitimist in the depths of his heart. Théo stopped it after the second Act. Too late. The wretched players had lost their heads! They behaved like idiots! I would have hissed myself, if it had not been for Hugo. I say, wake up, young man! I have never heard you applaud once. You seem to me to be sound asleep. I was told you were a duke and a poet. You have all your trade to learn as a claqueur. Remember, you never paid for your ticket.' 'I beg your pardon,' said Lucien hurriedly. He was longing for Théo's audience of mushrooms, violets, and souls of poets. The audience at the |