already full to overflowing, when Mme. de Nucingen and Rastignac
appeared. Never since Louis XIV. tore her lover away from La grand
Mademoiselle, and the whole court hastened to visit that unfortunate
princess, had a disastrous love affair made such a sensation in Paris.
But the youngest daughter of the almost royal house of Burgundy had
risen proudly above her pain, and moved till the last moment like a
queen in this world--its vanities had always been valueless for her,
save in so far as they contributed to the triumph of her passion. The
salons were filled with the most beautiful women in Paris, resplendent
in their toilettes, and radiant with smiles. Ministers and
ambassadors, the most distinguished men at court, men bedizened with
decorations, stars, and ribbons, men who bore the most illustrious
names in France, had gathered about the Vicomtesse.

The music of the orchestra vibrated in wave after wave of sound from
the golden ceiling of the palace, now made desolate for its queen.

Madame de Beauseant stood at the door of the first salon to receive
the guests who were styled her friends. She was dressed in white, and
wore no ornament in the plaits of hair braided about her head; her
face was calm; there was no sign there of pride, nor of pain, nor of
joy that she did not feel. No one could read her soul; she stood there
like some Niobe carved in marble. For a few intimate friends there was
a tinge of satire in her smile; but no scrutiny saw any change in her,
nor had she looked otherwise in the days of the glory of her
happiness. The most callous of her guests admired her as young Rome
applauded some gladiator who could die smiling. It seemed as if
society had adorned itself for a last audience of one of its
sovereigns.