rent from the stage
seen over the footlights, that Lucien's astonishment knew no bounds.
The curtain was just about to fall on a good old-fashioned melodrama
entitled _Bertram_, a play adapted from a tragedy by Maturin which
Charles Nodier, together with Byron and Sir Walter Scott, held in the
highest esteem, though the play was a failure on the stage in Paris.

"Keep a tight hold of my arm, unless you have a mind to fall through
a trap-door, or bring down a forest on your head; you will pull down
a palace, or carry off a cottage, if you are not careful," said
Etienne.--"Is Florine in her dressing-room, my pet?" he added,
addressing an actress who stood waiting for her cue.

"Yes, love. Thank you for the things you said about me. You are so much
nicer since Florine has come here."

"Come, don't spoil your entry, little one. Quick with you, look sharp,
and say, 'Stop, wretched man!' nicely, for there are two thousand francs
of takings."

Lucien was struck with amazement when the girl's whole face suddenly
changed, and she shrieked, "Stop, wretched man!" a cry that froze the
blood in your veins. She was no longer the same creature.

"So this is the stage," he said to Lousteau.

"It is like the bookseller's shop in the Wooden Galleries, or a literary
paper," said Etienne Lousteau; "it is a kitchen, neither more nor less."

Nathan appeared at this moment.

"What brings you here?" inquired Lousteau.

"Why, I am doing the minor theatres for the _Gazette_ until something
better turns up."

"Oh! come to supper with us this evening; speak well of Florine, and I
will do as much for you."

"Very much at your service," returned Nathan.

"You know; she is living in the Rue du Bondy now."

"Lousteau, dear boy, who is the handsome young man that you have brought
with you?" asked the actress, now returned to the wings.

"A great poet, dear, that will have a famous name one of these days.--M.
Nathan, I must introduce M. Lucien de Rubempre to you, as you are to
meet again at supper."

"You have a good name, monsieur," said Nathan.

"Lucien, M. Raoul Nathan," continued Etienne.

"I read your book two days ago; and, upon my word, I cannot understand
how you, who have written such a book, and such poetry, can be so humble
to a journalist."

"Wait till your first book comes out," said Nathan, and a shrewd smile
flitted over his face.

"I say! I say! here are Ultras and Liberals actually shaking hands!"
cried Vernou,