u. "I have read the work, it is very literary, and so
exactly the kind of thing we want, that I have sent it off as it is to
the printer. The agreement is drawn on the lines laid down, and besides,
we always make the same stipulations in all cases. The bills fall due
in six, nine, and twelve months respectively; you will meet with no
difficulty in discounting them, and we will refund you the discount. We
have reserved the right of giving a new title to the book. We don't
care for _The Archer of Charles IX._; it doesn't tickle the reader's
curiosity sufficiently; there were several kings of that name, you
see, and there were so many archers in the Middle Ages. If you had only
called it the _Soldier of Napoleon_, now! But _The Archer of Charles
IX._!--why, Cavalier would have to give a course of history lessons
before he could place a copy anywhere in the provinces."

"If you but knew the class of people that we have to do with!" exclaimed
Cavalier.

"_Saint Bartholomew_ would suit better," continued Fendant.

"_Catherine de' Medici, or France under Charles IX._, would sound more
like one of Scott's novels," added Cavalier.

"We will settle it when the work is printed," said Fendant.

"Do as you please, so long as I approve your title," said Lucien.

The agreement was read over, signed in duplicate, and each of the
contracting parties took their copy. Lucien put the bills in his pocket
with unequaled satisfaction, and the four repaired to Fendant's abode,
where they breakfasted on beefsteaks and oysters, kidneys in champagne,
and Brie cheese; but if the fare was something of the homeliest, the
wines were exquisite; Cavalier had an acquaintance a traveler in the
wine trade. Just as they sat down to table the printer appeared, to
Lucien's surprise, with the first two proof-sheets.

"We want to get on with it," Fendant said; "we are counting on your
book; we want a success confoundedly badly."

The breakfast, begun at noon, lasted till five o'clock.

"Where shall we get cash for these things?" asked Lucien as they came
away, somewhat heated and flushed with the wine.

"We might try Barbet," suggested Etienne, and they turned down to the
Quai des Augustins.

"Coralie is astonished to the highest degree over Florine's loss.
Florine only told her about it yesterday; she seemed to lay the blame of
it on you, and was so vexed, that she was ready to throw you over."

"That's true," said Lousteau. Wine had got the bett