A scarcely perceptible smile on de Marsay's pale lips made Delphine de
Nucingen color.

"How we do forget!" said the Baron de Nucingen.

The great banker's simplicity was so extremely droll, that his wife,
who was de Marsay's "second," could not help laughing like every one
else.

"You are all ready to condemn the woman," said Lady Dudley. "Well, I
quite understand that she did not regard her marriage as an act of
inconstancy. Men will never distinguish between constancy and
fidelity.--I know the woman whose story Monsieur de Marsay has told
us, and she is one of the last of your truly great ladies."

"Alas! my lady, you are right," replied de Marsay. "For very nearly
fifty years we have been looking on at the progressive ruin of all
social distinctions. We ought to have saved our women from this great
wreck, but the Civil Code has swept its leveling influence over their
heads. However terrible the words, they must be spoken: Duchesses are
vanishing, and marquises too! As to the baronesses--I must apologize
to Madame de Nucingen, who will become a countess when her husband is
made a peer of France--baronesses have never succeeded in getting
people to take them seriously."

"Aristocracy begins with the viscountess," said Blondet with a smile.

"Countesses will survive," said de Marsay. "An elegant woman will be
more or less of a countess--a countess of the Empire or of yesterday,