Before the Countess rose to go at one o’clock in the morning, she turned to Lucien and said in a low voice, “Do me the pleasure of coming punctually to-morrow evening.” Then, with the friendliest little nod, she went, saying a few words to Châtelet, who was looking for his hat.
“If Mme. du Châtelet has given me a correct idea of the state of affairs, count on me, my dear Lucien,” said the prefect, preparing to hurry after his wife. She was going away without him, after the Paris fashion. “Your brother-in-law may consider that his troubles are at an end,” he added as he went.
“M. le Comte surely owes me so much,” smiled Lucien.
Cointet and Petit-Claud heard these farewell speeches.
“Well, well, we are done for now,” Cointet muttered in his confederate’s ear. Petit-Claud, thunderstruck by Lucien’s success, amazed by his brilliant wit and varying charm, was gazing at Françoise de la Haye; the girl’s whole face was full of admiration for Lucien. “Be like your friend,” she seemed to say to her betrothed. A gleam of joy flitted over Petit-Claud’s countenance.
“We still have a whole day before the prefect’s dinner; I will answer for everything.”
An hour later, as Petit-Claud and Lucien walked home together, Lucien talked of his success. “Well, my dear fellow, I came, I saw, I conquered! Séchard will be very happy in a few hours’ time.”
“Just what I wanted to know,” thought Petit-Claud. Aloud he said—“I thought you were simply a poet, Lucien, but you are a Lauzun too, that is to say—twice a poet,” and they shook hands—for the last time, as it proved.
“Good news, dear Eve,” said Lucien, waking his sister, “David will have no debts in less than a month!”
“How is that?”