“But we are engaged to Mme. Mahoudeau this evening, dear,” put in the wife.
“What does that matter?” returned Vernou.
“She will take offence if we don’t go; and you are very glad of her when you have a bill to discount.”
“This wife of mine, my dear boy, can never be made to understand that a supper engagement for twelve o’clock does not prevent you from going to an evening party that comes to an end at eleven. She is always with me while I work,” he added.
“You have so much imagination!” said Lucien, and thereby made a mortal enemy of Vernou.
“Well,” continued Lousteau, “you are coming; but that is not all. M. de Rubempré is about to be one of us, so you must push him in your paper. Give him out for a chap that will make a name for himself in literature, so that he can put in at least a couple of articles every month.”
“Yes, if he means to be one of us, and will attack our enemies, as we will attack his, I will say a word for him at the Opéra to-night,” replied Vernou.
“Very well—good-bye till to-morrow, my boy,” said Lousteau, shaking hands with every sign of cordiality. “When is your book coming out?”
“That depends on Dauriat; it is ready,” said Vernou pater-familias.
“Are you satisfied?”