"What is that, my dear boy?"

"I have a party."

"There is a Lucien party?" said Vernou, smiling

"Finot, the boy has left you in the lurch; I told you he would. Lucien
is a clever fellow, and you never were respectful to him. You used him
as a hack. Repent, blockhead!" said Blondet.

Blondet, as sharp as a needle, could detect more than one secret in
Lucien's air and manner; while stroking him down, he contrived to
tighten the curb. He meant to know the reasons of Lucien's return to
Paris, his projects, and his means of living.

"On your knees to a superiority you can never attain to, albeit you
are Finot!" he went on. "Admit this gentleman forthwith to be one of
the great men to whom the future belongs; he is one of us! So witty
and so handsome, can he fail to succeed by your quibuscumque viis?
Here he stands, in his good Milan armor, his strong sword half
unsheathed, and his pennon flying!--Bless me, Lucien, where did you
steal that smart waistcoat? Love alone can find such stuff as that.
Have you an address? At this moment I am anxious to know where my
friends are domiciled; I don't know where to sleep. Finot has turned
me out of doors for the night, under the vulgar pretext of 'a lady in
the case.'"

"My boy," said Lucien, "I put into practice a motto by which you may
secure a quiet life: Fuge, late, tace. I am off."