ruel,
addressing Lucien; "you can write a charming paragraph about our dear
Coralie."

"Oh! do us that little service!" pleaded Camusot, down on his knees,
metaphorically speaking, before the critic. "You will always find me
ready to do you a good turn at any time."

"Do leave him his independence," Coralie exclaimed angrily; "he will
write what he pleases. Papa Camusot, buy carriages for me instead of
praises."

"You shall have them on very easy terms," Lucien answered politely.
"I have never written for newspapers before, so I am not accustomed to
their ways, my maiden pen is at your disposal----"

"That is funny," said du Bruel.

"Here we are in the Rue de Bondy," said Cardot. Coralie's sally had
quite crushed the little old man.

"If you are giving me the first fruits of your pen, the first love that
has sprung up in my heart shall be yours," whispered Coralie in the
brief instant that they remained alone together in the cab; then
she went up to Florine's bedroom to change her dress for a toilette
previously sent.

Lucien had no idea how lavishly a prosperous merchant will spend money
upon an actress or a mistress when he means to enjoy a life of pleasure.
Matifat was not nearly so rich a man as his friend Camusot, and he had
done his part rather shabbily, yet the sight of the dining-room took
Lucien by surprise. The walls were hung with green cloth with a border
of gilded nails, the whole room was artistically decorated, lighted by
handsome lamps, stands full of flowers stood in every direction. The
drawing-room was resplendent with the furniture in fashion in those
days--a Thomire chandelier, a carpet of Eastern design, and yellow
silken hangings relieved by a brown border. The candlesticks,
fire-irons, and clock were all in good taste; for Matifat had left
everything to Grindot, a rising architect, who was building a house for
him, and the young man had taken great pains with the rooms when he knew
that Florine was to occupy them.

Matifat, a tradesman to the backbone, went about carefully, afraid
to touch the new furniture; he seemed to have the totals of the bills
always before his eyes, and to look upon the splendors about him as so
much jewelry imprudently withdrawn from the case.

"And I shall be obliged to do as much for Florentine!" old Cardot's eyes
seemed to say.

Lucien at once began to understand Lousteau's indifference to the state
of his garret. Etienne was the real king of these festiv