a skilful and devoted doctor, who obtained credit for them of the
druggist. The landlord of the house and the tradespeople knew by this
time how matters stood. The furniture was attached. The tailor and
dressmaker no longer stood in awe of the journalist, and proceeded to
extremes; and at last no one, with the exception of the pork-butcher and
the druggist, gave the two unlucky children credit. For a week or more
all three of them--Lucien, Berenice, and the invalid--were obliged to
live on the various ingenious preparations sold by the pork-butcher; the
inflammatory diet was little suited to the sick girl, and Coralie grew
worse. Sheer want compelled Lucien to ask Lousteau for a return of the
loan of a thousand francs lost at play by the friend who had deserted
him in his hour of need. Perhaps, amid all his troubles, this step cost
him most cruel suffering.

Lousteau was not to be found in the Rue de la Harpe. Hunted down like a
hare, he was lodging now with this friend, now with that. Lucien found
him at last at Flicoteaux's; he was sitting at the very table at which
Lucien had found him that evening when, for his misfortune, he forsook
d'Arthez for journalism. Lousteau offered him dinner, and Lucien
accepted the offer.

As they came out of Flicoteaux's with Claude Vignon (who happened to
be dining there that day) and the great man in obscurity, who kept his
wardrobe at Samanon's, the four among them could not produce enough
specie to pay for a cup of coffee at the Cafe Voltaire. They lounged
about the Luxembourg in the hope of meeting with a publisher; and, as
it fell out, they met with one of the most famous printers of the day.
Lousteau borrowed forty francs of him, and divided the money into four
equal parts.

Misery had brought down Lucien's pride and extinguished sentiment; he
shed tears as he told the story of his troubles, but each one of his
comrades had a tale as cruel as his own; and when the three versions
had been given, it seemed to the poet that he was the least unfortunate
among the four. All of them craved a respite from remembrance and
thoughts which made trouble doubly hard to bear.

Lousteau hurried to the Palais Royal to gamble with his remaining nine
francs. The great man unknown to fame, though he had a divine mistress,
must needs hie him to a low haunt of vice to wallow in perilous
pleasure. Vignon betook himself to the _Rocher de Cancale_ to drown
memory and thought in a couple of bottles