“Good-day or good-night, gentlemen,” said Florine. Then, turning to a short, stout man standing in a corner, “These gentlemen are the rulers of my destiny,” she said, “my future is in their hands; but they will be under our table to-morrow morning, I hope, if M. Lousteau has forgotten nothing——” “Forgotten! You are going to have Blondet of the _Débats_,” said Étienne, “the genuine Blondet, the very Blondet—Blondet himself, in short.” “Oh! Lousteau, you dear boy! stop, I must give you a kiss,” and she flung her arms about the journalist’s neck. Matifat, the stout person in the corner, looked serious at this. Florine was thin; her beauty, like a bud, gave promise of the flower to come; the girl of sixteen could only delight the eyes of artists who prefer the sketch to the picture. All the quick subtlety of her character was visible in the features of the charming actress, who at that time might have sat for Goethe’s Mignon. Matifat, a wealthy druggist of the Rue des Lombards, had imagined that a little Boulevard actress would have no very expensive tastes, but in eleven months Florine had cost him sixty thousand francs. Nothing seemed more extraordinary to Lucien than the sight of an honest and worthy merchant standing like a statue of the god Terminus in the actress’ narrow dressing-room, a tiny place some ten feet square, hung with a pretty wall-paper, and adorned with a full-length mirror, a sofa, and two chairs. There was a fireplace in the dressing-closet, a carpet on the floor, and cupboards all round the room. A dresser was putting the finishing touches to a Spanish costume; for Florine was to take the part of a countess in an imbroglio. “That girl will be the handsomest actress in Paris in five years’ time,” said Nathan, turning to Félicien Vernou. “By the by, darlings, you will take care of me to-morrow, won’t you?” said Florine, turning to the three journalists. “I have engaged cabs for to-night, for I am going to send you home as tipsy as Shrove Tuesday. Matifat has sent in wines—oh! wines worthy of Louis XVIII., and engaged the Prussian ambassador’s cook.” “We expect something enormous from the look of the gentleman,” remarked Nathan. “And he is quite aware that he is treating the most dangerous men in Paris,” added Florine. Matifat was looking uneasily at Lucien; he felt jealous of the young man’s good looks. “But here is some one that I do not know,” Florine continued, confronting Lucien. “Which of you has imported the Apollo Belvedere from Florence? He is as charming as one of Girodet’s figures.” “He is a poet, mademoiselle, from the provinces. I forgot to present him to you; you are so beautiful to-night that you put the _Complete Guide to Etiquette_ out of a man’s head——” “Is he so rich that he can afford to write poetry?” asked Florine. “Poor as Job,” said Lucien. “It is a great temptation for some of us,” said the actress.