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the woman who could comprehend him （a search which； let us remark in
passing； is one of the amorous follies of our epoch）； Auguste met； in
the rank of society that was farthest from his own； in the secondary
sphere of money； where banking holds the first place； a perfect being；
one of those women who have I know not what about them that is saintly
and sacred；women who inspire such reverence that love has need of
the help of a long familiarity to declare itself。
Auguste then gave himself up wholly to the delights of the deepest and
most moving of passions； to a love that was purely adoring。
Innumerable repressed desires there were； shadows of passion so vague
yet so profound； so fugitive and yet so actual； that one scarcely
knows to what we may compare them。 They are like perfumes； or clouds；
or rays of the sun； or shadows； or whatever there is in nature that
shines for a moment and disappears； that springs to life and dies；
leaving in the heart long echoes of emotion。 When the soul is young
enough to nurture melancholy and far…off hope； to find in woman more
than a woman； is it not the greatest happiness that can befall a man
when he loves enough to feel more joy in touching a gloved hand； or a
lock of hair； in listening to a word； in casting a single look； than
in all the ardor of possession given by happy love？ Thus it is that
rejected persons； those rebuffed by fate； the ugly and unfortunate；
lovers unrevealed； women and timid men； alone know the treasures
contained in the voice of the beloved。 Taking their source and their
element from the soul itself； the vibrations of the air； charged with
passion； put our hearts so powerfully into communion； carrying thought
between them so lucidly； and being； above all； so incapable of
falsehood； that a single inflection of a voice is often a revelation。
What enchantments the intonations of a tender voice can bestow upon
the heart of a poet！ What ideas they awaken！ What freshness they shed
there！ Love is in the voice before the glance avows it。 Auguste； poet
after the manner of lovers （there are poets who feel； and poets who
express； the first are the happiest）； Auguste had tasted all these
early joys； so vast； so fecund。 SHE possessed the most winning organ
that the most artful woman of the world could have desired in order to
deceive at her ease； /she/ had that silvery voice which is soft to the
ear； and ringing only for the heart which it stirs and troubles；
caresses and subjugates。
And this woman went by night to the rue Soly through the rue Pagevin！
and her furtive apparition in an infamous house had just destroyed the
grandest of passions！ The vidame's logic triumphed。
〃If she is betraying her husband we will avenge ourselves；〃 said
Auguste。
There was still faith in that 〃if。〃 The philosophic doubt of Descartes
is a politeness with which we should always honor virtue。 Ten o'clock
sounded。 The Baron de Maulincour remembered that this woman was going
to a ball that evening at a house to which he had access。 He dressed；
went there； and searched for her through all the salons。 The mistress
of the house； Madame de Nucingen； seeing him thus occupied； said：
〃You are looking for Madame Jules； but she has not yet come。〃
〃Good evening； dear；〃 said a voice。
Auguste and Madame de Nucingen turned round。 Madame Jules had arrived；
dressed in white； looking simple and noble； wearing in her hair the
marabouts the young baron had seen her choose in the flower…shop。 That
voice of love now pierced his heart。 Had he won the slightest right to
be jealous of her he would have petrified her then and there by saying
the words； 〃Rue Soly！〃 But if he； an alien to her life； had said those
words in her ear a thousand times； Madame Jules would have asked him
in astonishment what he meant。 He looked at her stupidly。
For those sarcastic persons who scoff at all things it may be a great
amusement to detect the secret of a woman； to know that her chastity
is a lie； that her calm face hides some anxious thought； that under
that pure brow is a dreadful drama。 But there are other souls to whom
the sight is saddening； and many of those who laugh in public； when
withdrawn into themselves and alone with their conscience； curse the
world while they despise the woman。 Such was the case with Auguste de
Maulincour； as he stood there in presence of Madame Jules。 Singular
situation！ There was no other relation between them than that which
social life establishes between persons who exchange a few words seven
or eight times in the course of a winter； and yet he was calling her
to account on behalf of a happiness unknown to her； he was judging
her； without letting her know of his accusation。
Many young men find themselves thus in despair at having broken
forever with a woman adored in secret； condemned and despised in
secret。 There are many hidden monologues told to the walls of some
solitary lodging； storms roused and calmed without ever leaving the
depths of hearts； amazing scenes of the moral world； for which a
painter is wanted。 Madame Jules sat down； leaving her husband to make
a turn around the salon。 After she was seated she seemed uneasy； and；
while talking with her neighbor； she kept a furtive eye on Monsieur
Jules Desmarets； her husband； a broker chiefly employed by the Baron
de Nucingen。 The following is the history of their home life。
Monsieur Desmarets was； five years before his marriage； in a broker's
office； with no other means than the meagre salary of a clerk。 But he
was a man to whom misfortune had early taught the truths of life； and
he followed the strait path with the tenacity of an insect making for
its nest； he was one of those dogged young men who feign death before
an obstacle and wear out everybody's patience with their own beetle…
like perseverance。 Thus； young as he was； he had all the republican
virtue of poor peoples； he was sober； saving of his time； an enemy to
pleasure。 He waited。 Nature had given him the immense advantage of an
agreeable exterior。 His calm； pure brow； the shape of his placid； but
expressive face； his simple manners；all revealed in him a laborious
and resigned existence； that lofty personal dignity which is imposing
to others； and the secret nobility of heart which can meet all events。
His modesty inspired a sort of respect in those who knew him。 Solitary
in the midst of Paris； he knew the social world only by glimpses
during the brief moments which he spent in his patron's salon on
holidays。
There were passions in this young man； as in most of the men who live
in that way； of amazing profundity；passions too vast to be drawn
into petty incidents。 His want of means compelled him to lead an
ascetic life； and he conquered his fancies by hard work。 After paling
all day over figures； he found his recreation in striving obstinately
to acquire that wide general knowledge so necessary in these days to
every man who wants to make his mark； whether in society； or in
commerce； at the bar； or in politics or literature。 The only peril
these fine souls have to fear comes from their own uprightness。 They
see some poor girl； they love her； they marry her； and wear out their
lives in a struggle between poverty and love。 The noblest ambition is
quenched perforce by the household account…book。 Jules Desmarets went
headlong into this peril。
He met one evening at his patron's house a girl of the rarest beauty。
Unfortunate men who are deprived of affection； and who consume the
finest hours of youth in work and study； alone know the rapid ravages
that passion makes in their lonely； misconceived hearts。 They are so
certain of loving truly； all their forces are concentrated so quickly
on the object of their love； that they receive； while beside her； the
most delightful sensations； when； as often happens； they inspire none
at all。 Nothing is more flattering to a woman's egotism than to divine
this passion； apparently immovable； and these emotions so deep that
they have needed a great length of time to reach the human surface。
These poor men； anchorites in the midst of Paris； have all the
enjoyments of anchorites； and may sometimes succumb to temptations。
But； more often deceived； betrayed； and misunderstood； they are rarely
able to gather the sweet fruits of a love which； to them； is like a
flower dropped from heaven。
One smile from his wife； a single inflection of her voice sufficed to
make Jules Desmarets conceive a passion which was boundless。 Happily；
the concentrated fire of that secret passion revealed itself artlessly
to the woman who inspired it。 These two beings then loved each other
religiously。 To express all in a word； they clasped hands without
shame before the eyes of the world and went their way like two
children； brother and sister； passing serenely through a crowd where
all made way for them and admired them。
The young girl was in one of those unfortunate positions which human
selfishness entails upon children。 She had no civil status； her name
of 〃Clemence〃 and her age were recorded only by a notary public。 As
for her fortune； that was small indeed。 Jules Desmarets was a happy
man on hearing these particulars。 If Clemence had belonged