“What brings you here?” inquired Lousteau.

“Why, I am doing the minor theatres for the Gazette until something better turns up.”

“Oh! come to supper with us this evening; speak well of Florine, and I will do as much for you.”

“Very much at your service,” returned Nathan.

“You know; she is living in the Rue du Bondy now.”

“Lousteau, dear boy, who is the handsome young man that you have brought with you?” asked the actress, now returned to the wings.

“A great poet, dear, that will have a famous name one of these days.  —­M.  Nathan, I must introduce M. Lucien de Rubempre to you, as you are to meet again at supper.”

“You have a good name, monsieur,” said Nathan.

“Lucien, M. Raoul Nathan,” continued Etienne.

“I read your book two days ago; and, upon my word, I cannot understand how you, who have written such a book, and such poetry, can be so humble to a journalist.”

“Wait till your first book comes out,” said Nathan, and a shrewd smile flitted over his face.

“I say!  I say! here are Ultras and Liberals actually shaking hands!” cried Vernou, spying the trio.

“In the morning I hold the views of my paper,” said Nathan, “in the evening I think as I please; all journalists see double at night.”

Felicien Vernou turned to Lousteau.

“Finot is looking for you, Etienne; he came with me, and—­here he is!”

“Ah, by the by, there is not a place in the house, is there?” asked Finot.

“You will always find a place in our hearts,” said the actress, with the sweetest smile imaginable.

“I say, my little Florville, are you cured already of your fancy?  They told me that a Russian prince had carried you off.”

“Who carries off women in these days” said Florville (she who had cried, “Stop, wretched man!").  “We stayed at Saint-Mande for ten days, and my prince got off with paying the forfeit money to the management.  The manager will go down on his knees to pray for some more Russian princes,” Florville continued, laughing; “the forfeit money was so much clear gain.”

“And as for you, child,” said Finot, turning to a pretty girl in a peasant’s costume, “where did you steal these diamond ear-drops?  Have you hooked an Indian prince?”

“No, a blacking manufacturer, an Englishman, who has gone off already.  It is not everybody who can find millionaire shopkeepers, tired of domestic life, whenever they like, as Florine does and Coralie.  Aren’t they just lucky?”

“Florville, you will make a bad entry,” said Lousteau; “the blacking has gone to your head!”

“If you want a success,” said Nathan, “instead of screaming, ’He is saved!’ like a Fury, walk on quite quietly, go to the staircase, and say, ‘He is saved,’ in a chest voice, like Pasta’s ‘O patria,’ in Tancreda.—­There, go along!” and he pushed her towards the stage.