"Thechildhasakeepsakeinhishands,somethingwhichmightbetraythewrongsdonebyyourbeneficence,yourkindnessindesertinghim.Youmighthavetoblushifyousawhimstrugglingforlife,andchancedtorecollectthatonceyouclaspedhimtoyourbreast.Whenyoureadthesewordsthekeepsakewillbeinyourownsafekeeping;youarefreetoforgeteverything.
　　"Onceyoupointedoutfairhopestomeintheskies,IawaketofindrealityinthesqualidpovertyofParis.Whileyoupass,andothersbowbeforeyou,onyourbrilliantpathinthegreatworld,I,Iwhomyoudesertedonthethreshold,shallbeshiveringinthewretchedgarrettowhichyouconsignedme.Yetsomepangmayperhapstroubleyourmindamidfestivalsandpleasures;youmaythinksometimesofthechildwhomyouthrustintothedepths.Ifso,madame,thinkofhimwithoutremorse.Outofthedepthsofhismiserythechildoffersyoutheonethinglefttohim——hisforgivenessinalastlook.Yes,madame,thankstoyou,Ihavenothingleft.Nothing!wasnottheworldcreatedfromnothing?
　　GeniusshouldfollowtheDivineexample;IbeginwithGod-likeforgiveness,butasyetIknownotwhetherIpossesstheGod-likepower.YouneedonlytremblelestIshouldgoastray;foryouwouldbeanswerableformysins.Alas!Ipityyou,foryouwillhavenopartinthefuturetowardswhichIgo,withworkasmyguide."
　　Afterpenningthisrhetoricaleffusion,fullofthesombredignitywhichanartistofone-and-twentyisratherapttooverdo,Lucien'sthoughtswentbacktothemathome.HesawtheprettyroomswhichDavidhadfurnishedforhim,atthecostofpartofhislittlestore,andavisionrosebeforehimofquiet,simplepleasuresinthepast.
　　Shadowyfigurescameabouthim;hesawhismotherandEveandDavid,andheardtheirsobsoverhisleave-taking,andatthathebegantocryhimself,forhefeltverylonelyinParis,andfriendlessandforlorn.
　　Twoorthreedayslaterhewrotetohissister:——
　　"MydearEve,——Whenasistersharesthelifeofabrotherwhodevoteshimselftoart,itishersadprivilegetotakemoresorrowthanjoyintoherlife;andIambeginningtofearthatI
　　shallbeagreattroubletoyou.HaveInotabusedyourgoodnessalready?havenotallofyousacrificedyourselvestome?Itisthememoryofthepast,sofulloffamilyhappiness,thathelpsmetobearupinmypresentloneliness.NowthatIhavetastedthefirstbeginningsofpovertyandthetreacheryoftheworldofParis,howmythoughtshaveflowntoyou,swiftasaneaglebacktoitseyrie,sothatImightbewithtrueaffectionagain.Didyouseesparksinthecandle?Didacoalpopoutofthefire?Didyouhearsinginginyourears?Anddidmothersay,'Lucienisthinkingofus,'andDavidanswer,'Heisfightinghiswayintheworld?'
　　"MyEve,Iamwritingthisletterforyoureyesonly.Icannottellanyoneelseallthathashappenedtome,goodandbad,blushingforboth,asIwrite,forgoodhereisasrareaseviloughttobe.Youshallhaveagreatpieceofnewsinaveryfewwords.Mme.deBargetonwasashamedofme,disownedme,wouldnotseeme,andgavemeupninedaysafterwecametoParis.Shesawmeinthestreetandlookedanotherway;when,simplytofollowherintothesocietytowhichshemeanttointroduceme,IhadspentseventeenhundredandsixtyfrancsoutofthetwothousandI
　　broughtfromAngouleme,themoneysohardlyscrapedtogether.'Howdidyouspendit?'youwillask.Parisisastrangebottomlessgulf,mypoorsister;youcandinehereforlessthanafranc,yetthesimplestdinneratafashionablerestaurantcostsfiftyfrancs;therearewaistcoatsandtrouserstobehadforfourfrancsandtwofrancseach;butafashionabletailorneverchargeslessthanahundredfrancs.Youpayforeverything;youpayahalfpennytocrossthekennelinthestreetwhenitrains;youcannotgotheleastlittlewayinacabforlessthanthirty-twosous.
　　"IhavebeenstayinginoneofthebestpartsofParis,butnowI
　　amlivingattheHoteldeCluny,intheRuedeCluny,oneofthepoorestanddarkestslums,shutinbetweenthreechurchesandtheoldbuildingsoftheSorbonne.Ihaveafurnishedroomonthefourthfloor;itisverybareandverydirty,but,allthesame,I
　　payfifteenfrancsamonthforit.ForbreakfastIspendapennyonarollandahalfpennyformilk,butIdineverydecentlyfortwenty-twosousatarestaurantkeptbyamannamedFlicoteauxinthePlacedelaSorbonneitself.Myexpenseseverymonthwillnotexceedsixtyfrancs,everythingincluded,untilthewinterbegins——atleastIhopenot.Somytwohundredandfortyfrancsoughttolastmeforthefirstfourmonths.BetweennowandthenIshallhavesoldTheArcherofCharlesIX.andtheMargueritesnodoubt.
　　Donotbeintheleastuneasyonmyaccount.Ifthepresentiscoldandbareandpoverty-stricken,thebluedistantfutureisrichandsplendid;mostgreatmenhaveknownthevicissitudeswhichdepressbutcannotoverwhelmme.
　　"Plautus,thegreatcomicLatinpoet,wasonceamiller'slad.
　　MachiavelliwroteThePrinceatnight,andbydaywasacommonworking-manlikeanyoneelse;andmorethanall,thegreatCervantes,wholostanarmatthebattleofLepanto,andhelpedtowinthatfamousday,wascalleda'base-born,handlessdotard'bythescribblersofhisday;therewasanintervaloftenyearsbetweentheappearanceofthefirstpartandthesecondofhissublimeDonQuixoteforlackofapublisher.Thingsarenotsobadasthatnowadays.Mortificationsandwantonlyfalltothelotofunknownwriters;assoonasaman'snameisknown,hegrowsrich,andIwillberich.Andbesides,Ilivewithinmyself,IspendhalfthedayattheBibliothequeSainte-Genevieve,learningallthatIwanttolearn;IshouldnotgofarunlessIknewmorethanIdo.SoatthismomentIamalmosthappy.InafewdaysIhavefalleninwithmylifeverygladly.IbegintheworkthatIlovewithdaylight,mysubsistenceissecure,Ithinkagreatdeal,andIstudy.IdonotseethatIamopentoattackatanypoint,nowthatIhaverenouncedaworldwheremyvanitymightsufferatanymoment.Thegreatmenofeveryageareobligedtoleadlivesapart.Whataretheybutbirdsintheforest?Theysing,naturefallsunderthespelloftheirsong,andnooneshouldseethem.
　　Thatshallbemylot,alwayssupposingthatIcancarryoutmyambitiousplans.
　　"Mme.deBargetonIdonotregret.Awomanwhocouldbehaveasshebehaveddoesnotdeserveathought.NoramIsorrythatIleftAngouleme.ShedidwiselywhensheflungmeintotheseaofParistosinkorswim.Thisistheplaceformenoflettersandthinkersandpoets;hereyoucultivateglory,andIknowhowfairtheharvestisthatwereapinthesedays.Nowhereelsecanawriterfindthelivingworksofthegreatdead,theworksofartwhichquickentheimaginationinthegalleriesandmuseumshere;nowhereelsewillyoufindgreatreferencelibrariesalwaysopeninwhichtheintellectmayfindpasture.Andlastly,hereinParisthereisaspiritwhichyoubreatheintheair;itinfusestheleastdetails,everyliterarycreationbearstracesofitsinfluence.
　　Youlearnmorebytalkinacafe,oratatheatre,inonehalfhour,thanyouwouldlearnintenyearsintheprovinces.Here,intruth,whereveryougo,thereisalwayssomethingtosee,somethingtolearn,somecomparisontomake.Extremecheapnessandexcessivedearness——thereisParisforyou;thereishoneycombhereforeverybee,everynaturefindsitsownnourishment.So,thoughlifeishardformejustnow,Irepentofnothing.Onthecontrary,afairfuturespreadsoutbeforeme,andmyheartrejoicesthoughitissaddenedforthemoment.Good-byemydearsister.Donotexpectlettersfrommeregularly;itisoneofthepeculiaritiesofParisthatonereallydoesnotknowhowthetimegoes.Lifeissoalarminglyrapid.IkissthemotherandyouandDavidmoretenderlythanever."
　　ThenameofFlicoteauxisengravedonmanymemories.FewindeedwerethestudentswholivedintheLatinQuarterduringthelasttwelveyearsoftheRestorationanddidnotfrequentthattemplesacredtohungerandimpecuniosity.Thereadinnerofthreecourses,withaquarterbottleofwineorabottleofbeer,couldbehadforeighteensous;orfortwenty-twosousthequarterbottlebecomesabottle.
　　Flicoteaux,thatfriendofyouth,wouldbeyondadoubthaveamassedacolossalfortunebutforalineonhisbilloffare,alinewhichrivalestablishmentsarewonttoprintincapitalletters,thus——BREAD
　　ATDISCRETION,which,beinginterpreted,shouldread"indiscretion."
　　Flicoteauxhasbeennursing-fathertomanyanillustriousname.
　　Verily,theheartofmorethanonegreatmanoughttowaxwarmwithinnumerablerecollectionsofinexpressibleenjoymentatthesightofthesmall,squarewindowpanesthatlookuponthePlacedelaSorbonne,andtheRueNeuve-de-Richelieu.FlicoteauxII.andFlicoteauxIII.respectedtheoldexterior,maintainingthedingyhueandgeneralairofarespectable,old-establishedhouse,showingtherebythedepthoftheircontemptforthecharlatanismoftheshop-
　　front,thekindofadvertisementwhichfeaststheeyesattheexpenseofthestomach,towhichyourmodernrestaurantalmostalwayshasrecourse.Hereyoubeheldnopilesofstraw-stuffedgameneverdestinedtomaketheacquaintanceofthespit,nofantasticalfishtojustifythemountebank'sremark,"Isawafinecarpto-day;Iexpecttobuyitthisdayweek."Insteadoftheprimevegetablesmorefittinglydescribedbythewordprimeval,artfullydisplayedinthewindowforthedelectationofthemilitarymanandhisfellowcountry-
　　womanthenursemaid,honestFlicoteauxexhibitedfullsalad-bowlsadornedwithmanyarivet,orpyramidsofstewedprunestorejoicethesightofthecustomer,andassurehimthattheword"dessert,"withwhichotherhandbillsmadetoofree,wasinthiscasenochartertohoodwinkthepublic.Loavesofsixpounds'weight,cutinfourquarters,madegoodthepromiseof"breadatdiscretion."Suchwastheplentyoftheestablishment,thatMolierewouldhavecelebrateditifithadbeeninexistenceinhisday,socomicallyappropriateisthename.
　　Flicoteauxstillsubsists;solongasstudentsaremindedtolive,Flicoteauxwillmakealiving.Youfeedthere,neithermorenorless;
　　andyoufeedasyouwork,withmoroseorcheerfulindustry,accordingtothecircumstancesandthetemperament.
　　Atthattimehiswell-knownestablishmentconsistedoftwodining-
　　halls,atrightanglestoeachother;long,narrow,low-ceiledrooms,lookingrespectivelyontheRueNeuve-de-RichelieuandthePlacedelaSorbonne.Thefurnituremusthavecomeoriginallyfromtherefectoryofsomeabbey,fortherewasamonasticlookaboutthelengthytables,wheretheserviettesofregularcustomers,eachthrustthroughanumberedringofcrystallizedtinplate,werelaidbytheirplaces.
　　FlicoteauxI.onlychangedtheserviettesofaSunday;butFlicoteauxII.changedthemtwiceaweek,itissaid,underpressureofcompetitionwhichthreatenedhisdynasty.
　　Flicoteaux'srestaurantisnobanqueting-hall,withitsrefinementsandluxuries;itisaworkshopwheresuitabletoolsareprovided,andeverybodygetsupandgoesassoonashehasfinished.Thecomingandgoingwithinareswift.Thereisnodawdlingamongthewaiters;theyareallbusy;everyoneofthemiswanted.
　　Thefareisnotveryvaried.Thepotatoisapermanentinstitution;
　　theremightnotbeasingletuberleftinIreland,andprevailingdearthelsewhere,butyouwouldstillfindpotatoesatFlicoteaux's.
　　NotonceinthirtyyearsshallyoumissitspalegoldthecolorbelovedofTitian,sprinkledwithchoppedverdure;thepotatoenjoysaprivilegethatwomenmightenvy;suchasyouseeitin1814,soshallyoufinditin1840.MuttoncutletsandfilletofbeefatFlicoteaux'srepresentblackgameandfilletofsturgeonatVery's;
　　theyarenotontheregularbilloffare,thatis,andmustbeorderedbeforehand.Beefofthefemininegenderthereprevails;theyoungofthebovinespeciesappearsinallkindsofingeniousdisguises.Whenthewhitingandmackerelaboundonourshores,theyarelikewiseseeninlargenumbersatFlicoteaux's;hiswholeestablishment,indeed,isdirectlyaffectedbythecapricesoftheseasonandthevicissitudesofFrenchagriculture.ByeatingyourdinnersatFlicoteaux'syoulearnahostofthingsofwhichthewealthy,theidle,andfolkindifferenttothephasesofNaturehavenosuspicion,andthestudentpennedupintheLatinQuarteriskeptaccuratelyinformedofthestateoftheweatherandgoodorbadseasons.HeknowswhenitisagoodyearforpeasorFrenchbeans,andthekindofsaladstuffthatisplentiful;whentheGreatMarketisgluttedwithcabbages,heisatonceawareofthefact,andthefailureofthebeetrootcropisbroughthometohismind.Aslander,oldincirculationinLucien'stime,connectedtheappearanceofbeef-steakswithamortalityamonghorseflesh.
　　FewParisianrestaurantsaresowellworthseeing.EveryoneatFlicoteaux'sisyoung;youseenothingbutyouth;andalthoughearnestfacesandgrave,gloomy,anxiousfacesarenotlacking,youseehopeandconfidenceandpovertygailyendured.Dress,asarule,iscareless,andregularcomersindecentclothesaremarkedexceptions.
　　Everybodyknowsatoncethatsomethingextraordinaryisafoot:amistresstovisit,atheatreparty,orsomeexcursionintohigherspheres.Here,itissaid,friendshipshavebeenmadeamongstudentswhobecamefamousmeninafterdays,aswillbeseeninthecourseofthisnarrative;butwiththeexceptionofafewknotsofyoungfellowsfromthesamepartofFrancewhomakeagroupabouttheendofatable,thegravityofthedinersishardlyrelaxed.Perhapsthisgravityisduetothecatholicityofthewine,whichchecksgoodfellowshipofanykind.
　　Flicoteaux'sfrequentersmayrecollectcertainsombreandmysteriousfiguresenvelopedinthegloomofthechilliestpenury;thesebeingswoulddinetheredailyforacoupleofyearsandthenvanish,andthemostinquisitiveregularcomercouldthrownolightonthedisappearanceofsuchgoblinsofParis.FriendshipsstruckupoverFlicoteaux'sdinnersweresealedinneighboringcafesintheflamesofheadypunch,orbythegenerouswarmthofasmallcupofblackcoffeeglorifiedbyadashofsomethinghotterandstronger.
　　Lucien,likeallneophytes,wasmodestandregularinhishabitsinthoseearlydaysattheHoteldeCluny.Afterthefirstunluckyventureinfashionablelifewhichabsorbedhiscapital,hethrewhimselfintohisworkwiththefirstearnestenthusiasm,whichisfritteredawaysosoonoverthedifficultiesorintheby-pathsofeverylifeinParis.Themostluxuriousandtheverypoorestlivesareequallybesetwithtemptationswhichnothingbutthefierceenergyofgeniusorthemorosepersistenceofambitioncanovercome.
　　LucienusedtodropinatFlicoteaux'sabouthalf-pastfour,havingremarkedtheadvantagesofanearlyarrival;thebill-of-farewasmorevaried,andtherewasstillsomechanceofobtainingthedishofyourchoice.Likeallimaginativepersons,hehadtakenafancytoaparticularseat,andshoweddiscriminationinhisselection.Ontheveryfirstdayhehadnoticedatablenearthecounter,andfromthefacesofthosewhosataboutit,andchancesnatchesoftheirtalk,herecognizedbrothersofthecraft.Asortofinstinct,moreover,pointedoutthetablenearthecounterasaspotwhencehecouldparlaywiththeownersoftherestaurant.Intimeanacquaintancewouldgrowup,hethought,andtheninthedayofdistresshecouldnodoubtobtainthenecessarycredit.Sohetookhisplaceatasmallsquaretableclosetothedesk,intendedprobablyforcasualcomers,forthetwocleanservietteswereunadornedwithrings.Lucien'soppositeneighborwasathin,pallidyouth,toallappearanceaspoorashimself;hishandsomefacewassomewhatworn,alreadyittoldofhopesthathadvanished,leavinglinesuponhisforeheadandbarrenfurrowsinhissoul,whereseedshadbeensownthathadcometonothing.Lucienfeltdrawntothestrangerbythesetokens;hissympathieswentouttohimwithirresistiblefervor.
　　Afteraweek'sexchangeofsmallcourtesiesandremarks,thepoetfromAngoulemefoundthefirstpersonwithwhomhecouldchat.Thestranger'snamewasEtienneLousteau.Twoyearsagohehadlefthisnativeplace,atowninBerri,justasLucienhadcomefromAngouleme.
　　Hislivelygestures,brighteyes,andoccasionallycurtspeechrevealedabitterapprenticeshiptoliterature.EtiennehadcomefromSancerrewithhistragedyinhispocket,drawntoParisbythesamemotivesthatimpelledLucien——hopeoffameandpowerandmoney.
　　SometimesEtienneLousteaucameforseveraldaystogether;butinalittlewhilehisvisitsbecamefewandfarbetween,andhewouldstayawayforfiveorsixdaysinsuccession.Thenhewouldcomeback,andLucienwouldhopetoseehispoetnextday,onlytofindastrangerinhisplace.Whentwoyoungmenmeetdaily,theirtalkharksbacktotheirlastconversation;butthesecontinualinterruptionsobligedLucientobreaktheiceafresheachtime,andfurthercheckedanintimacywhichmadelittleprogressduringthefirstfewweeks.Oninquiryofthedamselatthecounter,Lucienwastoldthathisfuturefriendwasonthestaffofasmallnewspaper,andwrotereviewsofbooksanddramaticcriticismofpiecesplayedattheAmbigu-Comique,theGaite,andthePanorama-Dramatique.TheyoungmanbecameapersonageallatonceinLucien'seyes.Now,hethought,hewouldleadtheconversationonrathermorepersonaltopics,andmakesomeefforttogainafriendsolikelytobeusefultoabeginner.Thejournaliststayedawayforafortnight.LuciendidnotknowthatEtienneonlydinedatFlicoteaux'swhenhewashardup,andhencehisgloomyairofdisenchantmentandthechillymanner,whichLucienmetwithgracioussmilesandamiableremarks.But,afterall,theprojectofafriendshipcalledformaturedeliberation.Thisobscurejournalistappearedtoleadanexpensivelifeinwhichpetitsverres,cupsofcoffee,punch-bowls,sight-seeing,andsuppersplayedapart.IntheearlydaysofLucien'slifeintheLatinQuarter,hebehavedlikeapoorchildbewilderedbyhisfirstexperienceofParislife;sothatwhenhehadmadeastudyofpricesandweighedhispurse,helackedcouragetomakeadvancestoEtienne;hewasafraidofbeginningafreshseriesofblundersofwhichhewasstillrepenting.Andhewasstillundertheyokeofprovincialcreeds;histwoguardianangels,EveandDavid,roseupbeforehimattheleastapproachofanevilthought,puttinghiminmindofallthehopesthatwerecenteredonhim,ofthehappinessthatheowedtotheoldmother,ofallthepromisesofhisgenius.
　　HespenthismorningsinstudyinghistoryattheBibliothequeSainte-
　　Genevieve.HisveryfirstresearchesmadehimawareoffrightfulerrorsinthememoirsofTheArcherofCharlesIX.Whenthelibraryclosed,hewentbacktohisdamp,chillyroomtocorrecthiswork,cuttingoutwholechaptersandpiecingittogetheranew.AndafterdiningatFlicoteaux's,hewentdowntothePassageduCommercetoseethenewspapersatBlosse'sreading-room,aswellasnewbooksandmagazinesandpoetry,soastokeephimselfinformedofthemovementsoftheday.Andwhen,towardsmidnight,hereturnedtohiswretchedlodgings,hehadusedneitherfuelnorcandle-light.Hisreadinginthosedaysmadesuchanenormouschangeinhisideas,thatherevisedthevolumeofflower-sonnets,hisbelovedMarguerites,workingthemovertosuchpurpose,thatscarceahundredlinesoftheoriginalverseswereallowedtostand.
　　SointhebeginningLucienledthehonest,innocentlifeofthecountryladwhoneverleavestheLatinQuarter;devotinghimselfwhollytohiswork,withthoughtsofthefuturealwaysbeforehim;whofindsFlicoteaux'sordinaryluxuriousafterthesimplehome-fare;andstrollsforrecreationalongthealleysoftheLuxembourg,thebloodsurgingbacktohisheartashegivestimidsideglancestotheprettywomen.Butthiscouldnotlast.Lucien,withhispoetictemperamentandboundlesslongings,couldnotwithstandthetemptationsheldoutbytheplay-bills.
　　TheTheatre-Francais,theVaudeville,theVarietes,theOpera-Comiquerelievedhimofsomesixtyfrancs,althoughhealwayswenttothepit.
　　WhatstudentcoulddenyhimselfthepleasureofseeingTalmainoneofhisfamousroles?Lucienwasfascinatedbythetheatre,thatfirstloveofallpoetictemperaments;theactorsandactresseswereawe-
　　inspiringcreatures;hedidnotsomuchasdreamofthepossibilityofcrossingthefootlightsandmeetingthemonfamiliarterms.Themenandwomenwhogavehimsomuchpleasureweresurelymarvelousbeings,whomthenewspaperstreatedwithasmuchgravityasmattersofnationalinterest.Tobeadramaticauthor,tohaveaplayproducedonthestage!Whatadreamwasthistocherish!AdreamwhichafewboldspiritslikeCasimirDelavignehadactuallyrealized.Thickswarmingthoughtslikethese,andmomentsofbeliefinhimself,followedbydespairgaveLuciennorest,andkepthiminthenarrowwayoftoilandfrugality,inspiteofthesmotheredgrumblingsofmorethanonefrenzieddesire.
　　Carryingprudencetoanextreme,hemadeitarulenevertoentertheprecinctsofthePalaisRoyal,thatplaceofperditionwherehehadspentfiftyfrancsatVery'sinasingleday,andnearlyfivehundredfrancsonhisclothes;andwhenheyieldedtotemptation,andsawFleury,Talma,thetwoBaptistes,orMichot,hewentnofurtherthanthemurkypassagewheretheatre-goersusedtostandinastringfromhalf-pastfiveintheafternoontillthehourwhenthedoorsopened,andbelatedcomerswerecompelledtopaytensousforaplaceneartheticket-office.Andafterwaitingfortwohours,thecryof"Allticketsaresold!"rangnotunfrequentlyintheearsofdisappointedstudents.Whentheplaywasover,Lucienwenthomewithdowncasteyes,throughstreetslinedwithlivingattractions,andperhapsfellinwithoneofthosecommonplaceadventureswhichloomsolargeinayoungandtimorousimagination.
　　OnedayLuciencountedoverhisremainingstockofmoney,andtookalarmatthemeltingofhisfunds;acoldperspirationbrokeoutuponhimwhenhethoughtthatthetimehadcomewhenhemustfindapublisher,andtryalsotofindworkforwhichapublisherwouldpayhim.Theyoungjournalist,withwhomhehadmadeaone-sidedfriendship,nevercamenowtoFlicoteaux's.Lucienwaswaitingforachance——whichfailedtopresentitself.InParistherearenochancesexceptformenwithaverywidecircleofacquaintance;chancesofsuccessofeverykindincreasewiththenumberofyourconnections;
　　and,therefore,inthissensealsothechancesareinfavorofthebigbattalions.Lucienhadsufficientprovincialforesightstillleft,andhadnomindtowaituntilonlyalastfewcoinsremainedtohim.Heresolvedtofacethepublishers.
　　SoonetolerablychillySeptembermorningLucienwentdowntheRuedelaHarpe,withhistwomanuscriptsunderhisarm.AshemadehiswaytotheQuaidesAugustins,andwentalong,lookingintothebooksellers'windowsononesideandintotheSeineontheother,hisgoodgeniusmighthavecounseledhimtopitchhimselfintothewatersoonerthanplungeintoliterature.Afterheart-searchinghesitations,afteraprofoundscrutinyofthevariouscountenances,moreorlessencouraging,soft-hearted,churlish,cheerful,ormelancholy,tobeseenthroughthewindowpanes,orinthedoorwaysofthebooksellers'
　　establishments,heespiedahousewheretheshopmenwerebusypackingbooksatagreatrate.Goodswerebeingdespatched.Thewallswereplasteredwithbills:
　　JUSTOUT.
　　LESOLITAIRE,byM.leVicomted'Arlincourt.
　　Thirdedition.
　　LEONIDE,byVictorDucange;fivevolumes12mo,printedonfinepaper.12francs.
　　INDUCTIONSMORALES,byKeratry.
　　"Theyarelucky,thattheyare!"exclaimedLucien.
　　Theplacard,anewandoriginalideaofthecelebratedLadvocat,wasjustbeginningtoblossomoutuponthewalls.InnolongspacePariswastowearmotley,thankstotheexertionsofhisimitators,andtheTreasurywastodiscoveranewsourceofrevenue.
　　AnxietysentthebloodsurgingtoLucien'sheart,ashewhohadbeensogreatatAngouleme,soinsignificantoflateinParis,slippedpasttheotherhouses,summonedupallhiscourage,andatlastenteredtheshopthrongedwithassistants,customers,andbooksellers——"Andauthorstoo,perhaps!"thoughtLucien.
　　"IwanttospeakwithM.VidalorM.Porchon,"hesaid,addressingashopman.Hehadreadthenamesonthesign-board——VIDAL&PORCHONitran,Frenchandforeignbooksellers'agents.
　　"Bothgentlemenareengaged,"saidtheman.
　　"Iwillwait."
　　Lefttohimself,thepoetscrutinizedthepackages,andamusedhimselfforacoupleofhoursbyscanningthetitlesofbooks,lookingintothem,andreadingapageortwohereandthere.Atlast,ashestoodleaningagainstawindow,heheardvoices,andsuspectingthatthegreencurtainshideitherVidalorPorchon,helistenedtotheconversation.
　　"Willyoutakefivehundredcopiesofme?Ifyouwill,Iwillletyouhavethematfivefrancs,andgivefourteentothedozen."
　　"Whatdoesthatbringtheminat?"
　　"Sixteensousless."
　　"Fourfrancsfoursous?"saidVidalorPorchon,whicheveritwas.
　　"Yes,"saidthevendor.
　　"Credityouraccount?"inquiredthepurchaser.
　　"Oldhumbug!youwouldsettlewithmeineighteenmonths'time,withbillsatatwelvemonth."
　　"No.Settledatonce,"returnedVidalorPorchon.
　　"Billsatninemonths?"askedthepublisherorauthor,whoevidentlywassellinghisbook.
　　"No,mydearfellow,twelvemonths,"returnedoneofthefirmofbooksellers'agents.
　　Therewasapause.
　　"Youaresimplycuttingmythroat!"saidthevisitor.
　　"Butinayear'stimeshallwehaveplacedahundredcopiesofLeonide?"saidtheothervoice."Ifbookswentoffasfastasthepublisherswouldlike,weshouldbemillionaires,mygoodsir;buttheydon't,theygoasthepublicpleases.ThereissomeonenowbringingoutaneditionofScott'snovelsateighteensouspervolume,threelivrestwelvesouspercopy,andyouwantmetogiveyoumoreforyourstaleremainders?No.Ifyoumeanmetopushthisnovelofyours,youmustmakeitworthmywhile——Vidal!"
　　Astoutman,withapenbehindhisear,camedownfromhisdesk.
　　"HowmanycopiesofDucangedidyouplacelastjourney?"askedPorchonofhispartner.
　　"TwohundredofLePetitVieillarddeCalais,buttosellthemIwasobligedtocrydowntwobookswhichpayinlesscommission,anduncommonlyfine'nightingales'theyarenow.
　　A"nightingale,"asLucienafterwardslearned,isabookseller'snameforbooksthatlingeronhand,perchedoutofsightintheloneliestnooksintheshop.
　　"Andbesides,"addedVidal,"Picardisbringingoutsomenovels,asyouknow.Wehavebeenpromisedtwentypercentonthepublishedpricetomakethethingasuccess."
　　"Verywell,attwelvemonths,"thepublisheransweredinapiteousvoice,thunderstruckbyVidal'sconfidentialremark.
　　"Isitanoffer?"Porchoninquiredcurtly.
　　"Yes."Thestrangerwentout.Afterhehadgone,LucienheardPorchonsaytoVidal:
　　"Wehavethreehundredcopiesonordernow.Wewillkeephimwaitingforhissettlement,selltheLeonidesforfivefrancsnet,settlementinsixmonths,and——"
　　"Andthatwillbefifteenhundredfrancsintoourpockets,"saidVidal.
　　"Oh,Isawquitewellthathewasinafix.HeisgivingDucangefourthousandfrancsfortwothousandcopies."
　　LuciencutVidalshortbyappearingintheentranceoftheden.
　　"Ihavethehonorofwishingyouagoodday,gentlemen,"hesaid,addressingbothpartners.Thebooksellersnoddedslightly.
　　"IhaveaFrenchhistoricalromanceafterthestyleofScott.ItiscalledTheArcherofCharlesIX.;Iproposetoofferittoyou——"
　　PorchonglancedatLucienwithlustrelesseyes,andlaidhispendownonthedesk.Vidalstaredrudelyattheauthor.
　　"Wearenotpublishingbooksellers,sir;wearebooksellers'agents,"
　　hesaid."Whenwebringoutabookourselves,weonlydealinwell-
　　knownnames;andweonlytakeseriousliteraturebesides——historyandepitomes."
　　"Butmybookisveryserious.ItisanattempttosetthestrugglebetweenCatholicsandCalvinistsinitstruelight;theCatholicsweresupportersofabsolutemonarchy,andtheProtestantsforarepublic."
　　"M.Vidal!"shoutedanassistant.Vidalfled.
　　"Idon'tsay,sir,thatyourbookisnotamasterpiece,"repliedPorchon,withscantycivility,"butweonlydealinbooksthatarereadyprinted.Goandseesomebodythatbuysmanuscripts.ThereisoldDoguereauintheRueduCoq,neartheLouvre,heisintheromanceline.Ifyouhadonlyspokensooner,youmighthaveseenPollet,acompetitorofDoguereauandofthepublisherintheWoodenGalleries."
　　"Ihaveavolumeofpoetry——"
　　"M.Porchon!"somebodyshouted.
　　"POETRY!"Porchonexclaimedangrily."Forwhatdoyoutakeme?"headded,laughinginLucien'sface.Andhedivedintotheregionsofthebackshop.
　　LucienwentbackacrossthePontNeufabsorbedinreflection.Fromallthatheunderstoodofthismercantiledialect,itappearedthatbooks,likecottonnightcaps,weretoberegardedasarticlesofmerchandisetobesolddearandboughtcheap.
　　"Ihavemadeamistake,"saidLucientohimself;but,allthesame,thisrough-and-readypracticalaspectofliteraturemadeanimpressionuponhim.
　　IntheRueduCoqhestoppedinfrontofamodest-lookingshop,whichhehadpassedbefore.HesawtheinscriptionDOGUEREAU,BOOKSELLER,paintedaboveitinyellowlettersonagreenground,andrememberedthathehadseenthenameatthefootofthetitle-pageofseveralnovelsatBlosse'sreading-room.Inhewent,notwithouttheinwardtrepidationwhichamanofanyimaginationfeelsattheprospectofabattle.Insidetheshophediscoveredanodd-lookingoldman,oneofthequeercharactersofthetradeinthedaysoftheEmpire.
　　Doguereauworeablackcoatwithvastsquareskirts,whenfashionrequiredswallow-tailcoats.Hiswaistcoatwasofsomecheapmaterial,acheckedpatternofmanycolors;asteelchain,withacopperkeyattachedtoit,hungfromhisfobanddangleddownoveraroomypairofblacknethergarments.Thebooksellers'watchmusthavebeenthesizeofanonion.Iron-grayribbedstockings,andshoeswithsilverbucklescompletediscostume.Theoldman'sheadwasbare,andornamentedwithafringeofgrizzledlocks,quitepoeticallyscanty.
　　"OldDoguereau,"asPorchonstyledhim,wasdressedhalflikeaprofessorofbelles-lettresastohistrousersandshoes,halflikeatradesmanwithrespecttothevariegatedwaistcoat,thestockings,andthewatch;andthesameoddmixtureappearedinthemanhimself.Heunitedthemagisterial,dogmaticair,andthehollowcountenanceoftheprofessorofrhetoricwiththesharpeyes,suspiciousmouth,andvagueuneasinessofthebookseller.
　　"M.Doguereau?"askedLucien.
　　"Thatismyname,sir."
　　"Youareveryyoung,"remarkedthebookseller.
　　"Myage,sir,hasnothingtodowiththematter."
　　"True,"andtheoldbooksellertookupthemanuscript."Ah,begad!TheArcherofCharlesIX.,agoodtitle.Letusseenow,youngman,justtellmeyoursubjectinawordortwo."
　　"Itisahistoricalwork,sir,inthestyleofScott.ThecharacterofthestrugglebetweentheProtestantsandCatholicsisdepictedasastrugglebetweentwoopposedsystemsofgovernment,inwhichthethroneisseriouslyendangered.IhavetakentheCatholicside."
　　"Eh!butyouhaveideas,youngman.Verywell,Iwillreadyourbook,Ipromiseyou.IwouldratherhavehadsomethingmoreinMrs.
　　Radcliffe'sstyle;butifyouareindustrious,ifyouhavesomenotionofstyle,conceptions,ideas,andtheartoftellingastory,Idon'taskbetterthantobeofusetoyou.Whatdowewantbutgoodmanuscripts?"
　　"WhencanIcomeback?"
　　"Iamgoingintothecountrythisevening;Ishallbebackagainthedayafterto-morrow.Ishallhavereadyourmanuscriptbythattime;
　　andifitsuitsme,wemightcometotermsthatveryday."
　　Seeinghisacquaintancesoeasy,LucienwasinspiredwiththeunluckyideaofbringingtheMargueritesuponthescene.
　　"Ihaveavolumeofpoetryaswell,sir——"hebegan.
　　"Oh!youareapoet!ThenIdon'twantyourromance,"andtheoldmanhandedbackthemanuscript."Therhymingfellowscometogriefwhentheytrytheirhandsatprose.Inproseyoucan'tusewordsthatmeannothing;youabsolutelymustsaysomething."
　　"ButSirWalterScott,sir,wrotepoetryaswellas——"
　　"Thatistrue,"saidDoguereau,relenting.Heguessedthattheyoungfellowbeforehimwaspoor,andkeptthemanuscript."Wheredoyoulive?Iwillcomeandseeyou."
　　Lucien,allunsuspiciousoftheideaatthebackoftheoldman'shead,gavehisaddress;hedidnotseethathehadtodowithabookselleroftheoldschool,asurvivaloftheeighteenthcentury,whenbooksellerstriedtokeepVoltairesandMontesquieusstarvingingarretsunderlockandkey.
　　"TheLatinQuarter.Iamcomingbackthatveryway,"saidDoguereau,whenhehadreadtheaddress.
　　"Goodman!"thoughtLucien,ashetookhisleave."SoIhavemetwithafriendtoyoungauthors,amanoftastewhoknowssomething.Thatisthekindofmanforme!ItisjustasIsaidtoDavid——talentsoonmakesitswayinParis."
　　Lucienwenthomeagainhappyandlightofheart;hedreamedofglory.
　　HegavenotanotherthoughttotheominouswordswhichfellonhisearashestoodbythecounterinVidalandPorchon'sshop;hebeheldhimselfthericherbytwelvehundredfrancsatleast.Twelvehundredfrancs!ItmeantayearinParis,awholeyearofpreparationfortheworkthathemeanttodo.Whatplanshebuiltonthathope!Whatsweetdreams,whatvisionsofalifeestablishedonabasisofwork!
　　Mentallyhefoundnewquarters,andsettledhimselfinthem;itwouldnothavetakenmuchtosethimmakingapurchaseortwo.HecouldonlystaveoffimpatiencebyconstantreadingatBlosse's.
　　TwodayslateroldDoguereaucometothelodgingsofhisbuddingSirWalterScott.HewasstruckwiththepainswhichLucienhadtakenwiththestyleofthishisfirstwork,delightedwiththestrongcontrastsofcharactersanctionedbytheepoch,andsurprisedatthespiritedimaginationwhichayoungwriteralwaysdisplaysintheschemingofafirstplot——hehadnotbeenspoiled,thoughtoldDaddyDoguereau.HehadmadeuphismindtogiveathousandfrancsforTheArcherofCharlesIX.;hewouldbuythecopyrightoutandout,andbindLucienbyanengagementforseveralbooks,butwhenhecametolookatthehouse,theoldfoxthoughtbetterofit.
　　"Ayoungfellowthatlivesherehasnonebutsimpletastes,"saidhetohimself;"heisfondofstudy,fondofwork;Ineednotgivemorethaneighthundredfrancs."
　　"Fourthfloor,"answeredthelandlady,whenheaskedforM.LuciendeRubempre.Theoldbookseller,peeringup,sawnothingbuttheskyabovethefourthfloor.