thousand francs to the good, for he only gave fifty thousand for the whole affair. And in another year’s time the magazine will be worth two hundred thousand francs, if the Court buys it up; if the Court has the good sense to suppress newspapers, as they say.” “You are lucky,” said Lousteau. “If you had gone through all that I have endured, you would not say that of me. I had my fill of misery in those days, you see, and there was no help for it. My father is a hatter; he still keeps a shop in the Rue du Coq. Nothing but millions of money or a social cataclysm can open out the way to my goal; and of the two alternatives, I don’t know now that the revolution is not the easier. If I bore your friend’s name, I should have a chance to get on. Hush, here comes the manager. Good-bye,” and Finot rose to his feet, “I am going to the Opera. I shall very likely have a duel on my hands to-morrow, for I have put my initials to a terrific attack on a couple of dancers under the protection of two Generals. I am giving it them hot and strong at the Opera.” “Aha?” said the manager. “Yes. They are stingy with me,” returned Finot, “now cutting off a box, and now declining to take fifty subscriptions. I have sent in my _ultimatum_; I mean to have a hundred subscriptions out of them and a box four times a month. If they take my terms, I shall have eight hundred readers and a thousand paying subscribers; and I know a way of getting another two hundred subscribers, so we shall have twelve hundred with the New Year.” “You will end by ruining us,” said the manager. “_You_ are not much hurt with your ten subscriptions. I had two good notices put into the _Constitutionnel_.” “Oh! I am not complaining of you,” cried the manager. “Good-bye till to-morrow evening, Lousteau,” said Finot. “You can give me your answer at the Français; there is a new piece on there; and as I shall not be able to write the notice, you can take my box. I will give you preference; you have worked yourself to death for me, and I am grateful. Félicien Vernou offered twenty thousand francs for a third share of my little paper, and to work without a salary for a twelvemonth; but I want to be absolute master. Good-bye.” “He is not named Finot” (_finaud_, slyboots) “for nothing,” said Lucien. “He is a gallows-bird that will get on in the world,” said Étienne, careless whether the wily schemer overheard the remark or not, as he shut the door of the box. “_He_!” said the manager. “He will be a millionaire; he will enjoy the respect of all who know him; he may perhaps have friends some day——” “Good heavens! what a den!” said Lucien. “And are you going to drag that excellent creature into such a business?” he continued, looking at Florine, who gave them side glances from the stage. “She will carry it through too. You do not know the devotion and the wiles of these beloved beings,” said Lousteau.