“We will manage,” said Etienne.  “There is a fire burning in Florine’s boudoir; there is a table there; and if M. Matifat will find us paper and ink, we will knock off the newspaper while Florine and Coralie are dressing.”

Cardot, Camusot, and Matifat disappeared in search of quills, penknives, and everything necessary.  Suddenly the door was flung open, and Tullia, one of the prettiest opera-dancers of the day, dashed into the room.

“They agree to take the hundred copies, dear boy!” she cried, addressing Finot; “they won’t cost the management anything, for the chorus and the orchestra and the corps de ballet are to take them whether they like it or not; but your paper is so clever that nobody will grumble.  And you are going to have your boxes.  Here is the subscription for the first quarter,” she continued, holding out a couple of banknotes; “so don’t cut me up!”

“It is all over with me!” groaned Finot; “I must suppress my abominable diatribe, and I haven’t another notion in my head.”

“What a happy inspiration, divine Lais!” exclaimed Blondet, who had followed the lady upstairs and brought Nathan, Vernou and Claude Vignon with him.  “Stop to supper, there is a dear, or I will crush thee, butterfly as thou art.  There will be no professional jealousies, as you are a dancer; and as to beauty, you have all of you too much sense to show jealousy in public.”

“Oh dear!” cried Finot, “Nathan, Blondet, du Bruel, help friends!  I want five columns.”

“I can make two of the play,” said Lucien.

“I have enough for one,” added Lousteau.

“Very well; Nathan, Vernou, and du Bruel will make the jokes at the end; and Blondet, good fellow, surely will vouchsafe a couple of short columns for the first sheet.  I will run round to the printer.  It is lucky that you brought your carriage, Tullia.”

“Yes, but the Duke is waiting below in it, and he has a German Minister with him.”

“Ask the Duke and the Minister to come up,” said Nathan.

“A German?  They are the ones to drink, and they listen too; he shall hear some astonishing things to send home to his Government,” cried Blondet.

“Is there any sufficiently serious personage to go down to speak to him?” asked Finot.  “Here, du Bruel, you are an official; bring up the Duc de Rhetore and the Minister, and give your arm to Tullia.  Dear me!  Tullia, how handsome you are to-night!”

“We shall be thirteen at table!” exclaimed Matifat, paling visibly.

“No, fourteen,” said a voice in the doorway, and Florentine appeared.  “I have come to look after ‘milord Cardot,’” she added, speaking with a burlesque English accent.

“And besides,” said Lousteau, “Claude Vignon came with Blondet.”

“I brought him here to drink,” returned Blondet, taking up an inkstand.  “Look here, all of you, you must use all your wit before those fifty-six bottles of wine drive it out.  And, of all things, stir up du Bruel; he is a vaudevillist, he is capable of making bad jokes if you get him to concert pitch.”