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ISBN978-5-0068-8109-9

     Ridero







Inthe winter of18291830, deep into the night, the grand salon ofthe Vicomtesse de Grandlieu remained dimly lit byflickering candles.

 18291830,  ,           .



The air was heavy with the scent ofexpensive perfumes and the faint crackle ofadying fire.

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Most guests had already left the gathering, their carriages rumbling away into the cold Paris streets.

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Only two people lingered who were not family: ayoung, handsome man who glanced at the clock as it struck one, then politely bid farewell.

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As the sound ofhis departing carriage echoed through the courtyard, the Vicomtesse turned her attention toher daughter, Camille, who stood bythe fireplace, staring intently at adelicate, transparent screen that shielded the flames.

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Her posture was tense, her ears straining toward the outside noises, which stirred amothers quiet worries.

Ÿ   ,    ,     .



Camille, the Vicomtesse said softly, approaching her, if you keep treating young Comte de Restaud like this evening, Ill have toask him not tocome here anymore. Listen tome, dear. If you trust my love for you, let me help guide your choices inlife. At seventeen, you cant fully understand the past, the future, or how society works. Ihave just one thing totell you: Monsieur de Restaud has amother who could ruin millions. Shes from humble origins acertain Mademoiselle Goriot. People used totalk about her alot. She treated her own father so poorly that she doesnt deserve such agood son. The young Count adores her and supports her with great loyalty, which is admirable. Hes also kind tohis brother and sister. But as long as his mother is alive, no respectable family would risk giving adaughter and her fortune tohim.

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The Vicomtesses brother and afamily friend were finishing agame ofpiquet nearby.

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The friend, overhearing bits ofthe conversation, paused.

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Icaught afew words between you and Mademoiselle de Grandlieu, he said, and it worries me. Ithink Ishould add my thoughts. Oh, and Ive won, Monsieur le Comte, he added lightly tohis opponent.

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Ill leave you and go help your niece.

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What sharp ears you have, like atrue lawyer! the Vicomtesse exclaimed with asmile.

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My dear Derville, how did you know what Iwas whispering toCamille?

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Icould tell from your expressions, Derville replied, settling into alow chair bythe fire.

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Camilles uncle joined her side, and the Vicomtesse sat on asmall stool bythe hearth, between her daughter and Derville.

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Its time for astory, Derville began after ashort silence, one that might change how you see Ernest de Restauds future.

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Astory? Camille asked eagerly. Please start right away, monsieur.

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Derville glanced at the Vicomtesse, signaling that this tale was especially forher.

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The Vicomtesse de Grandlieu was one ofthe most prominent ladies inthe Faubourg Saint-Germain, thanks toher wealth and ancient lineage.

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It might seem odd for aParis lawyer like Derville tospeak so casually inher home or feel so comfortable there, but there was agood reason.

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When she returned toFrance with the royal family after the Revolution, she lived inParis on amodest pension from Louis XVIII, which was humiliating.

       ,       XVIII,   .



Her family hotel had been sold off bythe Republic.

Ÿ     .



Derville discovered flaws inthe sale and fought toget it back forher.

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Encouraged, he used clever legal arguments toreclaim the Forest ofLiceney and other properties that the Emperor had given away.

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Thanks tohis efforts, her income grew tosixty thousand francs ayear, plus more from indemnity laws.

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Derville was honest, knowledgeable, modest, and good company, so he became atrusted friend ofthe family.

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Through handling her affairs, he gained respect inhigh society and attracted elite clients.

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But he didnt exploit his fame like an ambitious man might.

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The Vicomtesse urged him tosell his practice and become amagistrate, where her influence could help him rise quickly, but he always refused.

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He visited society only tomaintain ties, and sometimes spent evenings at the Hotel de Grandlieu.

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It was lucky his skills shone through his loyalty toher; otherwise, his career might have stalled.

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Derville wasnt greedy like some lawyers.

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Since Ernest de Restaud started visiting and Derville noticed Camilles interest inhim, he had come more often.

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Just days ago at aball, standing near Camille, he had pointed tothe Count and said, Its ashame that young man doesnt have two or three million francs, isntit?

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Is it really ashame? Camille replied. Idont think so. Monsieur de Restaud is talented, well-educated, and his boss at the ministry likes him. Hell be important one day. That young man will have all the money he needs when he gains power.

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Yes, but what if he were rich now?

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Rich now? Camille said, her cheeks turning pink. Then every girl here would fight over him.

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She glanced at the dancers.

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And then, Derville continued, Mademoiselle de Grandlieu might not be the one he looks at so often. Thats why youre blushing! You like him, dont you? Come on, admitit.

Ƞ,  ,      ,     .    !   , ? , .



Camille stood up abruptly.

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She loves him, Derville thought tohimself.

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From that night, Camille had been unusually kind toDerville, who supported her feelings for Ernest.

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Before, she respected him for the familys debts tohim, but it was polite rather than warm.

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Her manners and voice always reminded him oftheir socialgap.

Ÿ        .



Gratitude can be aburden that the next generation ignores.

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This adventure, Derville said, pausing, reminds me ofthe one romantic episode inmy life. Youre smiling already it sounds funny for alawyer totalk about romance, right? But Iwas twenty-five once, like anyone, and Id seen strange things even then. Ill start with someone you couldnt have known: amoneylender.



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Can you picture his pale, yellowish face? Id call it amoon face, like tarnished silver.

His hair was gray like iron, neatly combed and flat. His features looked like they were made ofbronze cold and unchanging, like Talleyrand. Small yellow eyes, almost without lashes, peeked from under aworn cap, as if afraid oflight. His lips were thin, like those inold paintings ofalchemists or withered men. His nose ended inasharp point, like adrill. He spoke softly, never getting angry. His age was amystery maybe he aged early, or saved his energy tolast forever.

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