and a couple of china vases from the catastrophe, as well as four
spoons and forks and half-a-dozen little spoons. The bedroom was entered
from the dining-room, which might have belonged to a clerk with an
income of twelve hundred francs. The kitchen was next the landing, and
Berenice slept above in an attic. The rent was not more than a hundred
crowns.

The dismal house boasted a sham carriage entrance, the porter's box
being contrived behind one of the useless leaves of the gate, and
lighted by a peephole through which that personage watched the comings
and goings of seventeen families, for this hive was a "good-paying
property," in auctioneer's phrase.

Lucien, looking round the room, discovered a desk, an easy-chair, paper,
pens, and ink. The sight of Berenice in high spirits (she was building
hopes on Coralie's _debut_ at the Gymnase), and of Coralie herself
conning her part with a knot of blue ribbon tied about it, drove all
cares and anxieties from the sobered poet's mind.

"So long as nobody in society hears of this sudden comedown, we shall
pull through," he said. "After all, we have four thousand five hundred
francs before us. I will turn my new position in Royalist journalism to
account. To-morrow we shall start the _Reveil_; I am an old hand now,
and I will make something out."

And Coralie, seeing nothing but love in the words, kissed the lips that
uttered them. By this time Berenice had set the table near the fire
and served a modest breakfast of scrambled eggs, a couple of cutlets,
coffee, and cream. Just then there came a knock at the door, and
Lucien, to his astonishment, beheld three of his loyal friends of
old days--d'Arthez, Leon Giraud, and Michel Chrestien. He was deeply
touched, and asked them to share the breakfast.

"No; we have come on more serious business than condolence," said
d'Arthez; "we know the whole story, we have just come from the Rue de
Vendome. You know my opinions, Lucien. Under any other circumstances I
should be glad to hear that you had adopted my political convictions;
but situated as you are with regard to the Liberal Press, it is
impossible for you to go over to the Ultras. Your life will be sullied,
your character blighted for ever. We have come to entreat you in the
name of our friendship, weakened though it may be, not to soil yourself
in this way. You have been prominent in attacking the Romantics, the
Right, and the Government; you cannot now declare for the Govern