the solution of every difficulty. In the theatre as in the publishing
trade, and in the publishing trade as in the newspaper-office--it was
everywhere the same; there was not a word of art or of glory. The steady
beat of the great pendulum, Money, seemed to fall like hammer-strokes
on his heart and brain. And yet while the orchestra played the
overture, while the pit was full of noisy tumult of applause and hisses,
unconsciously he drew a comparison between this scene and others
that came up in his mind. Visions arose before him of David and the
printing-office, of the poetry that he came to know in that atmosphere
of pure peace, when together they beheld the wonders of Art, the high
successes of genius, and visions of glory borne on stainless wings. He
thought of the evenings spent with d'Arthez and his friends, and tears
glittered in his eyes.

"What is the matter with you?" asked Etienne Lousteau.

"I see poetry fallen into the mire."

"Ah! you have still some illusions left, my dear fellow."

"Is there nothing for it but to cringe and submit to thickheads like
Matifat and Camusot, as actresses bow down to journalists, and we
ourselves to the booksellers?"

"My boy, do you see that dull-brained fellow?" said Etienne, lowering
his voice, and glancing at Finot. "He has neither genius nor cleverness,
but he is covetous; he means to make a fortune at all costs, and he is
a keen man of business. Didn't you see how he made forty per cent out
of me at Dauriat's, and talked as if he were doing me a favor?--Well, he
gets letters from not a few unknown men of genius who go down on their
knees to him for a hundred francs."

The words recalled the pen-and-ink sketch that lay on the table in the
editor's office and the words, "Finot, my hundred francs!" Lucien's
inmost soul shrank from the man in disgust.

"I would sooner die," he said.

"Sooner live," retorted Etienne.

The curtain rose, and the stage-manager went off to the wings to give
orders. Finot turned to Etienne.

"My dear fellow, Dauriat has passed his word; I am proprietor of
one-third of his weekly paper. I have agreed to give thirty thousand
francs in cash, on condition that I am to be editor and director. 'Tis
a splendid thing. Blondet told me that the Government intends to take
restrictive measures against the press; there will be no new papers
allowed; in six months' time it will cost a million francs to start
a new journal, so I struck a bargain thoug