“I will let you know the weak points of the Ministry; but get Lucien to write that article and hand over the manuscript,” said des Lupeaulx, who refrained carefully from informing Finot that Lucien’s promised patent was nothing but a joke.

When des Lupeaulx had gone, Finot went to Lucien, and taking the good-natured tone which deceives so many victims, he explained that he could not possibly afford to lose his contributor, and at the same time he shrank from taking proceedings which might ruin him with his friends of the other side.  Finot himself liked a man who was strong enough to change his opinions.  They were pretty sure to come across one another, he and Lucien, and might be mutually helpful in a thousand little ways.  Lucien, besides, needed a sure man in the Liberal party to attack the Ultras and men in office who might refuse to help him.

“Suppose that they play you false, what will you do?” Finot ended.  “Suppose that some Minister fancies that he has you fast by the halter of your apostasy, and turns the cold shoulder on you?  You will be glad to set on a few dogs to snap at his legs, will you not?  Very well.  But you have made a deadly enemy of Lousteau; he is thirsting for your blood.  You and Felicien are not on speaking terms.  I only remain to you.  It is a rule of the craft to keep a good understanding with every man of real ability.  In the world which you are about to enter you can do me services in return for mine with the press.  But business first.  Let me have purely literary articles; they will not compromise you, and we shall have executed our agreement.”

Lucien saw nothing but good-fellowship and a shrewd eye to business in Finot’s offer; Finot and des Lupeaulx had flattered him, and he was in a good humor.  He actually thanked Finot!

Ambitious men, like all those who can only make their way by the help of others and of circumstances, are bound to lay their plans very carefully and to adhere very closely to the course of conduct on which they determine; it is a cruel moment in the lives of such aspirants when some unknown power brings the fabric of their fortunes to some severe test and everything gives way at once; threads are snapped or entangled, and misfortune appears on every side.  Let a man lose his head in the confusion, it is all over with him; but if he can resist this first revolt of circumstances, if he can stand erect until the tempest passes over, or make a supreme effort and reach the serene sphere about the storm—­then he is really strong.  To every man, unless he is born rich, there comes sooner or later “his fatal week,” as it must be called.  For Napoleon, for instance, that week was the Retreat from Moscow.  It had begun now for Lucien.

Social and literary success had come to him too easily; he had had such luck that he was bound to know reverses and to see men and circumstances turn against him.