to himself.  Dressed with the careless ease of a theatre man, du Bruel wore, in the morning, trousers strapped under his feet, shoes with gaiters, a waistcoat evidently vamped over, an olive surtout, and a black cravat.  At night he played the gentleman in elegant clothes.  He lived, for good reasons, in the same house as Florine, an actress for whom he wrote plays.  Du Bruel, or to give him his pen name, Cursy, was working just now at a piece in five acts for the Francais.  Sebastien was devoted to the author,—­who occasionally gave him tickets to the pit,—­and applauded his pieces at the parts which du Bruel told him were of doubtful interest, with all the faith and enthusiasm of his years.  In fact, the youth looked upon the playwright as a great author, and it was to Sebastien that du Bruel said, the day after a first representation of a vaudeville produced, like all vaudevilles, by three collaborators, “The audience preferred the scenes written by two.”

“Why don’t you write alone?” asked Sebastien naively.

There were good reasons why du Bruel did not write alone.  He was the third of an author.  A dramatic writer, as few people know, is made up of three individuals; first, the man with brains who invents the subject and maps out the structure, or scenario, of the vaudeville; second, the plodder, who works the piece into shape; and third, the toucher-up, who sets the songs to music, arranges the chorus and concerted pieces and fits them into their right place, and finally writes the puffs and advertisements.  Du Bruel was a plodder; at the office he read the newest books, extracted their wit, and laid it by for use in his dialogues.  He was liked by his collaborators on account of his carefulness; the man with brains, sure of being understood, could cross his arms and feel that his ideas would be well rendered.  The clerks in the office liked their companion well enough to attend a first performance of his plays in a body and applaud them, for he really deserved the title of a good fellow.  His hand went readily to his pocket; ices and punch were bestowed without prodding, and he loaned fifty francs without asking them back.  He owned a country-house at Aulnay, laid by his money, and had, besides the four thousand five hundred francs of his salary under government, twelve hundred francs pension from the civil list, and eight hundred from the three hundred thousand francs fund voted by the Chambers for encouragement of the Arts.  Add to these diverse emoluments nine thousand francs earned by his quarters, thirds, and halves of plays in three different theatres, and you will readily understand that such a man must be physically round, fat, and comfortable, with the face of a worthy capitalist.  As to morals, he was the lover and the beloved of Tullia and felt himself preferred in heart to the brilliant Duc de Rhetore, the lover in chief.