He saw himself at balls, theaters, and public promenades with Mademoiselle Laure on his arm, clad in dresses more magnificent than those of the girl with the ass's skin of the fairy tale.
The next morning at eleven o'clock, according to habit, Rodolphe got up.
His first thought was for Mademoiselle Laure.
"She is a very well mannered woman," he murmured, "I feel sure that she was brought up at Saint Denis.

I shall at length realize the happiness of having a mistress who is not pitted with the small-pox.

Decidedly I will make sacrifices for her.

I will go and draw my screw at 'The Scarf of Iris.' I will buy some gloves, and I will take Laure to dinner at a restaurant where table napkins are in use.

My coat is not up to much," said he as he dressed himself, "but, bah! black is good wear." And he went out to go to the office of "The Scarf of Iris." Crossing the street he came across an omnibus, on the side of which was pasted a bill, with the words, "Display of Fountains at Versailles, today, Sunday." A thunderbolt falling at Rodolphe's feet would not have produced a deeper impression upon him than the sight of this bill.
"Today, Sunday! I had forgotten it," he exclaimed.