“Is my agreement with Lousteau made out in duplicate and ready to sign?” asked Finot, speaking aside. “Yes.” “Then ante-date this gentleman’s agreement by one day, so that Lousteau will be bound by the previous contract.” Finot took his new contributor’s arm with a friendliness that charmed Lucien, and drew him out on the landing to say:— “Your position is made for you. I will introduce you to _my_ staff myself, and to-night Lousteau will go round with you to the theatres. You can make a hundred and fifty francs per month on this little paper of ours with Lousteau as its editor, so try to keep well with him. The rogue bears a grudge against me as it is, for tying his hands so far as you are concerned; but you have ability, and I don’t choose that you shall be subjected to the whims of the editor. You might let me have a couple of sheets every month for my review, and I will pay you two hundred francs. This is between ourselves, don’t mention it to anybody else; I should be laid open to the spite of every one whose vanity is mortified by your good fortune. Write four articles, fill your two sheets, sign two with your own name, and two with a pseudonym, so that you may not seem to be taking the bread out of anybody else’s mouth. You owe your position to Blondet and Vignon; they think that you have a future before you. So keep out of scrapes, and, above all things, be on your guard against your friends. As for me, we shall always get on well together, you and I. Help me, and I will help you. You have forty francs’ worth of boxes and tickets to sell, and sixty francs’ worth of books to convert into cash. With that and your work on the paper, you will be making four hundred and fifty francs every month. If you use your wits, you will find ways of making another two hundred francs at least among the publishers; they will pay you for reviews and prospectuses. But you are mine, are you not? I can count upon you.” Lucien squeezed Finot’s hand in transports of joy which no words can express. “Don’t let any one see that anything has passed between us,” said Finot in his ear, and he flung open a door of a room in the roof at the end of a long passage on the fifth floor. A table covered with a green cloth was drawn up to a blazing fire, and seated in various chairs and lounges Lucien discovered Lousteau, Félicien Vernou, Hector Merlin, and two others unknown to him, all laughing or smoking. A real inkstand, full of ink this time, stood on the table among a great litter of papers; while a collection of pens, the worse for wear, but still serviceable for journalists, told the new contributor very plainly that the mighty enterprise was carried on in this apartment.