Arrived in the Rue Saint-Fiacre, they went up to the room in the roof where the paper was made up, and Lucien was surprised and gratified no less to see the alacrity with which his comrades proceeded to demolish Nathan’s book. Hector Merlin took up a piece of paper and wrote a few lines for his own newspaper.— “A second edition of M. Nathan’s book is announced. We had intended to keep silence with regard to that work, but its apparent success obliges us to publish an article, not so much upon the book itself as upon certain tendencies of the new school of literature.” At the head of the “Facetiae” in the morning’s paper, Lousteau inserted the following note:— “M. Dauriat is bringing out a second edition of M. Nathan’s book. Evidently he does not know the legal maxim, _Non bis in idem_. All honor to rash courage.” Lousteau’s words had been like a torch for burning; Lucien’s hot desire to be revenged on Dauriat took the place of conscience and inspiration. For three days he never left Coralie’s room; he sat at work by the fire, waited upon by Bérénice; petted, in moments of weariness, by the silent and attentive Coralie; till, at the end of that time, he had made a fair copy of about three columns of criticism, and an astonishingly good piece of work. It was nine o’clock in the evening when he ran round to the office, found his associates, and read over his work to an attentive audience. Félicien said not a syllable. He took up the manuscript, and made off with it pell-mell down the staircase. “What has come to him?” cried Lucien. “He has taken your article straight to the printer,” said Hector Merlin. “‘Tis a masterpiece; not a line to add, nor a word to take out.” “There was no néed to do more than show you the way,” said Lousteau. “I should like to see Nathan’s face when he reads this to-morrow,” said another contributor, beaming with gentle satisfaction. “It is as well to have you for a friend,” remarked Hector Merlin. “Then it will do?” Lucien asked quickly. “Blondet and Vignon will feel bad,” said Lousteau. “Here is a short article which I have knocked together for you,” began Lucien; “if it takes, I could write you a series.” “Read it over,” said Lousteau, and Lucien read the first of the delightful short papers which made the fortune of the little newspaper; a series of sketches of Paris life, a portrait, a type, an ordinary event, or some of the oddities of the great city. This specimen—“The Man in the Street”—was written in a way that was fresh and original; the thoughts were struck out by the shock of the words, the sounding ring of the adverbs and adjectives caught the reader’s ear. The paper was as different from the serious and profound article on Nathan as the _Lettres persanes_ from the _Esprit des lois_. “You are a born journalist,” said Lousteau. “It shall go in to-morrow. Do as much of this sort of thing as you like.”