In its reorganized form, the Review came out Sundays and Thursdays and once a week Saturdays. The collaborators met at Werdet's house to discuss and compare notes. Generally, they brought with them more conversation than copy, and Balzac would begin to scold. "How can I make up to-morrow's issue," he asked, "if each of you arrives empty-handed?" "Oh! being a great man and a genius," was the reply, "you have merely to say: 'Let there be a Chronicle,' and there will be a Chronicle." "But you know that I reserve to myself nothing except the article on foreign policy." "Yes, we all know," answered Karr, punning on the French word _etrangere_, "that your policy is strange." (Not finishing the word _etrangere_, he said only _etrange_.) "_Ere_," shouted Balzac, adding the termination. "_Ere_," Alphonse yelled back. "You reserve to yourself a policy which is foreign to all governments present and past and future. And, as you scold me, Mr. Editor, is your own article ready?" "No, but it is here"--tapping his forehead--"I have only to write it. In an hour it will be done." "With the corrections?" queried Karr slily. "Yes, with the corrections." "Ah! well, prove that to us; and we'll all go on dry bread and water until a statue is raised to you. I am hungry." Although Balzac's colleagues had a real respect and admiration for his talent, they chaffed him unmercifully for his vanity. One Saturday, Alphonse Karr, as a joke, crowned him with flowers; and Balzac, in all good faith, complacently accepted the honour. Around him, the laughter broke out fast and furious; and, at length, he joined in with volleys that shook the room, while his face waxed purple beneath his explosions. In his _Guepes_, Alphonse Karr subsequently recalled this improvized coronation of the novelist.