"What have you done to Finot,Lucien,that he should make a special arrangement with you?You are the only one that he has bound to himself,"said Etienne Lousteau,as they came downstairs.
"I?Nothing.It was his own proposal,"said Lucien.
"As a matter of fact,if you should make your own terms with him,Ishould be delighted;we should,both of us,be the better for it."On the ground floor they found Finot.He stepped across to Lousteau and asked him into the so-called private office.Giroudeau immediately put a couple of stamped agreements before Lucien.
"Sign your agreement,"he said,"and the new editor will think the whole thing was arranged yesterday."Lucien,reading the document,overheard fragments of a tolerably warm dispute within as to the line of conduct and profits of the paper.
Etienne Lousteau wanted his share of the blackmail levied by Giroudeau;and,in all probability,the matter was compromised,for the pair came out perfectly good friends.
"We will meet at Dauriat's,Lucien,in the Wooden Galleries at eight o'clock,"said Etienne Lousteau.
A young man appeared,meanwhile,in search of employment,wearing the same nervous shy look with which Lucien himself had come to the office so short a while ago;and in his secret soul Lucien felt amused as he watched Giroudeau playing off the same tactics with which the old campaigner had previously foiled him.Self-interest opened his eyes to the necessity of the manoeuvres which raised well-nigh insurmountable barriers between beginners and the upper room where the elect were gathered together.
"Contributors don't get very much as it is,"he said,addressing Giroudeau.
"If there were more of you,there would be so much less,"retorted the captain."So there!"The old campaigner swung his loaded cane,and went down coughing as usual.Out in the street he was amazed to see a handsome carriage waiting on the boulevard for Lucien.
"YOU are the army nowadays,"he said,"and we are the civilians.""Upon my word,"said Lucien,as he drove away with Coralie,"these young writers seem to me to be the best fellows alive.Here am I a journalist,sure of making six hundred francs a month if I work like a horse.But I shall find a publisher for my two books,and I will write others;for my friends will insure a success.And so,Coralie,'vogue le galere!'as you say.""You will make your way,dear boy;but you must not be as good-natured as you are good-looking;it would be the ruin of you.Be ill-natured,that is the proper thing."Coralie and Lucien drove in the Bois de Boulogne,and again they met the Marquise d'Espard,Mme.de Bargeton and the Baron du Chatelet.
Mme.de Bargeton gave Lucien a languishing glance which might be taken as a greeting.Camusot had ordered the best possible dinner;and Coralie,feeling that she was rid of her adorer,was more charming to the poor silk-mercer than she had ever been in the fourteen months during which their connection lasted;he had never seen her so kindly,so enchantingly lovely.
"Come,"he thought,"let us keep near her anyhow!"In consequence,Camusot made secret overtures.He promised Coralie an income of six thousand livres;he would transfer the stock in the funds into her name (his wife knew nothing about the investment)if only she would consent to be his mistress still.He would shut his eyes to her lover.
"And betray such an angel?...Why,just look at him,you old fossil,and look at yourself!"and her eyes turned to her poet.
Camusot had pressed Lucien to drink till the poet's head was rather cloudy.
There was no help for it;Camusot made up his mind to wait till sheer want should give him this woman a second time.
"Then I can only be your friend,"he said,as he kissed her on the forehead.
Lucien went from Coralie and Camusot to the Wooden Galleries.What a change had been wrought in his mind by his initiation into Journalism!
He mixed fearlessly now with the crowd which surged to and fro in the buildings;he even swaggered a little because he had a mistress;and he walked into Dauriat's shop in an offhand manner because he was a journalist.
He found himself among distinguished men;gave a hand to Blondet and Nathan and Finot,and to all the coterie with whom he had been fraternizing for a week.He was a personage,he thought,and he flattered himself that he surpassed his comrades.That little flick of the wine did him admirable service;he was witty,he showed that he could "howl with the wolves."And yet,the tacit approval,the praises spoken and unspoken on which he had counted,were not forthcoming.He noticed the first stirrings of jealousy among a group,less curious,perhaps,than anxious to know the place which this newcomer might take,and the exact portion of the sum-total of profits which he would probably secure and swallow.
Lucien only saw smiles on two faces--Finot,who regarded him as a mine to be exploited,and Lousteau,who considered that he had proprietary rights in the poet,looked glad to see him.Lousteau had begun already to assume the airs of an editor;he tapped sharply on the window-panes of Dauriat's private office.
"One moment,my friend,"cried a voice within as the publisher's face appeared above the green curtains.
The moment lasted an hour,and finally Lucien and Etienne were admitted into the sanctum.
"Well,have you thought over our friend's proposal?"asked Etienne Lousteau,now an editor.
