holding Lucien by his coat button, "a journalist who apes the fine
gentleman deserves rough music. In their place," said the merciless
jester, as he pointed to Finot and Vernou, "I should take you up in my
society paper; you would bring in a hundred francs for ten columns of
fun."

"Bixiou," said Blondet, "an Amphitryon is sacred for twenty-four hours
before a feast and twelve hours after. Our illustrious friend is
giving us a supper."

"What then!" cried Bixiou; "what is more imperative than the duty of
saving a great name from oblivion, of endowing the indigent
aristocracy with a man of talent? Lucien, you enjoy the esteem of the
press of which you were a distinguished ornament, and we will give you
our support.--Finot, a paragraph in the 'latest items'!--Blondet, a
little butter on the fourth page of your paper!--We must advertise the
appearance of one of the finest books of the age, _l'Archer de Charles
IX._! We will appeal to Dauriat to bring out as soon as possible _les
Marguerites_, those divine sonnets by the French Petrarch! We must
carry our friend through on the shield of stamped paper by which
reputations are made and unmade."

"If you want a supper," said Lucien to Blondet, hoping to rid himself
of this mob, which threatened to increase, "it seems to me that you
need not work up hyperbole and parable to attack an old friend as if
he were a booby. To-morrow night at Lointier's----" he cried, seeing a
woman come by, whom he rushed to meet.

"Oh! oh! oh!" said Bixiou on three notes, with a mocking glance, and
seeming to recognize the mask to whom Lucien addressed himself. "This