Etienne Lousteau’s cruel lesson opened up possibilities for Lucien’s imagination. He understood this craft to admiration.
“Let us go to the office,” said Lousteau; “we shall find our friends there, and we will agree among ourselves to charge at Nathan; they will laugh, you will see.”
Arrived in the Rue Saint-Fiacre, they went up to the room in the roof where the paper was made up, and Lucien was surprised and gratified no less to see the alacrity with which his comrades proceeded to demolish Nathan’s book. Hector Merlin took up a piece of paper and wrote a few lines for his own newspaper.—
“A second edition of M. Nathan’s book is announced. We had
intended to keep silence with regard to that work, but its
apparent success obliges us to publish an article, not so much
upon the book itself as upon certain tendencies of the new school
of literature.”
At the head of the “Facetiae” in the morning’s paper, Lousteau inserted the following note:—
“M. Dauriat is bringing out a second edition of M. Nathan’s book.
Evidently he does not know the legal maxim, Non bis in idem. All
honor to rash courage.”
Lousteau’s words had been like a torch for burning; Lucien’s hot desire to be revenged on Dauriat took the place of conscience and inspiration. For three days he never left Coralie’s room; he sat at work by the fire, waited upon by Bérénice; petted, in moments of weariness, by the silent and attentive Coralie; till, at the end of that time, he had made a fair copy of about three columns of criticism, and an astonishingly good piece of work.
It was nine o’clock in the evening when he ran round to the office, found his associates, and read over his work to an attentive audience. Félicien said not a syllable. He took up the manuscript, and made off with it pell-mell down the staircase.
“What has come to him?” cried Lucien.
“He has taken your article straight to the printer,” said Hector Merlin. “‘Tis a masterpiece; not a line to add, nor a word to take out.”