“Napoleon said it; you can’t make young republics of old monarchies.  Therefore, my dear fellow, become the hero, the support, the creator of the Left Centre in the new Chamber, and you’ll succeed.  Once admitted into political ranks, once in the government, you can be what you like,—­of any opinion that triumphs.”

Nathan was bent on creating a daily political journal and becoming the absolute master of an enterprise which should absorb into it the countless little papers then swarming from the press, and establish ramifications with a review.  He had seen so many fortunes made all around him by the press that he would not listen to Blondet, who warned him not to trust to such a venture, declaring that the plan was unsound, so great was the present number of newspapers, all fighting for subscribers.  Raoul, relying on his so-called friends and his own courage, was all for daring it; he sprang up eagerly and said, with a proud gesture,—­

“I shall succeed.”

“But you haven’t a sou.”

“I will write a play.”

“It will fail.”

“Let it fail!” replied Nathan.

He rushed through the various rooms of Florine’s apartment, followed by Blondet, who thought him crazy, looking with a greedy eye upon the wealth displayed there.  Blondet understood that look.

“There’s a hundred and more thousand francs in them,” he remarked.

“Yes,” said Raoul, sighing, as he looked at Florine’s sumptuous bedstead; “but I’d rather be a pedler all my life on the boulevard, and live on fried potatoes, than sell one item of this apartment.”

“Not one item,” said Blondet; “sell all.  Ambition is like death; it takes all or nothing.”

“No, a hundred times no!  I would take anything from my new countess; but rob Florine of her shell? no.”

“Upset our money-box, break one’s balance-pole, smash our refuge, —­yes, that would be serious,” said Blondet with a tragic air.

“It seems to me from what I hear that you want to play politics instead of comedies,” said Florine, suddenly appearing.

“Yes, my dear, yes,” said Raoul, affectionately taking her by the neck and kissing her forehead.  “Don’t make faces at that; you won’t lose anything.  A minister can do better than a journalist for the queen of the boards.  What parts and what holidays you shall have!”

“Where will you get the money?” she said.

“From my uncle,” replied Raoul.

Florine knew Raoul’s “uncle.”  The word meant usury, as in popular parlance “aunt” means pawn.

“Don’t worry yourself, my little darling,” said Blondet to Florine, tapping her shoulder.  “I’ll get him the assistance of Massol, a lawyer who wants to be deputy; also Finot, who has never yet got beyond his ‘petit-journal,’ and Pantin, who wants to be master of petitions, and who dabbles in reviews.  Yes, I’ll save him from himself; we’ll convoke here to supper Etienne Lousteau, who can do the feuilleton; Claude Vignon for criticisms; Felicien Vernou as general care-taker; the lawyer will work, and du Tillet may take charge of the Bourse, the money article, and all industrial questions.  We’ll see where these various talents and slaves united will land the enterprise.”