A crowd of thoughts crossed Louise’s brain, and unluckily for her, she continued to ponder visibly as she watched Lucien. He was talking with the Bishop as if he were the king of the room; making no effort to find any one out, waiting till others came to him, looking round about him with varying expression, and as much at his ease as his model de Marsay. M. de Senonches appeared at no great distance, but Lucien still stood beside the prelate.
At the end of ten minutes Louise could contain herself no longer. She rose and went over to the Bishop and said:
“What is being said, my lord, that you smile so often?”
Lucien drew back discreetly, and left Mme. du Châtelet with his lordship.
“Ah! Mme. la Comtesse, what a clever young fellow he is! He was explaining to me that he owed all he is to you——”
“I am not ungrateful, madame,” said Lucien, with a reproachful glance that charmed the Countess.
“Let us have an understanding,” she said, beckoning him with her fan. “Come into the boudoir. My Lord Bishop, you shall judge between us.”
“She has found a funny task for his lordship,” said one of the Chandour camp, sufficiently audibly.
“Judge between us!” repeated Lucien, looking from the prelate to the lady; “then, is one of us in fault?”
Louise de Nègrepelisse sat down on the sofa in the familiar boudoir. She made the Bishop sit on one side and Lucien on the other, then she began to speak. But Lucien, to the joy and surprise of his old love, honored her with inattention; her words fell unheeded on his ears; he sat like Pasta in Tancredi, with the words O patria! upon her lips, the music of the great cavatina Dell Rizzo might have passed into his face. Indeed, Coralie’s pupil had contrived to bring the tears to his eyes.