Rastignac took them to Very's, sent away his carriage, and all three
sat down to table to analyze society with Rabelaisian laughs. During
the supper, Rastignac and Blondet advised their provisional enemy not
to neglect such a capital chance of advancement as the one now offered
to him. The two "roues" gave him, in fine satirical style, the history
of Madame Felix de Vandenesse; they drove the scalpel of epigram and
the sharp points of much good wit into that innocent girlhood and
happy marriage. Blondet congratulated Raoul on encountering a woman
guilty of nothing worse so far than horrible drawings in red chalk,
attenuated water-colors, slippers embroidered for a husband, sonatas
executed with the best intentions,--a girl tied to her mother's
apron-strings till she was eighteen, trussed for religious practices,
seasoned by Vandenesse, and cooked to a point by marriage. At the
third bottle of champagne, Raoul unbosomed himself as he had never
done before in his life.

"My friends," he said, "you know my relations with Florine; you also
know my life, and you will not be surprised to hear me say that I am
absolutely ignorant of what a countess's love may be like. I have
often felt mortified that I, a poet, could not give myself a Beatrice,
a Laura, except in poetry. A pure and noble woman is like an unstained
conscience,--she represents us to ourselves under a noble form.
Elsewhere we may soil ourselves, but with her we are always proud,
lofty, and immaculate. Elsewhere we lead ill-regulated lives; with her
we breathe the calm, the freshness, the verdure of an oasis--"

"Go on, go on, my dear fellow!" cried Rastignac; "twang that fourth
string with the prayer in 'Moses' like Paganini."

Raoul remained silent, with fixed eyes, apparently musing.