“There was no néed to do more than show you the way,” said Lousteau.
“I should like to see Nathan’s face when he reads this to-morrow,” said another contributor, beaming with gentle satisfaction.
“It is as well to have you for a friend,” remarked Hector Merlin.
“Then it will do?” Lucien asked quickly.
“Blondet and Vignon will feel bad,” said Lousteau.
“Here is a short article which I have knocked together for you,” began Lucien; “if it takes, I could write you a series.”
“Read it over,” said Lousteau, and Lucien read the first of the delightful short papers which made the fortune of the little newspaper; a series of sketches of Paris life, a portrait, a type, an ordinary event, or some of the oddities of the great city. This specimen—“The Man in the Street”—was written in a way that was fresh and original; the thoughts were struck out by the shock of the words, the sounding ring of the adverbs and adjectives caught the reader’s ear. The paper was as different from the serious and profound article on Nathan as the Lettres persanes from the Esprit des lois.
“You are a born journalist,” said Lousteau. “It shall go in to-morrow. Do as much of this sort of thing as you like.”
“Ah, by the by,” said Merlin, “Dauriat is furious about those two bombshells hurled into his magazine. I have just come from him. He was hurling imprecations, and in such a rage with Finot, who told him that he had sold his paper to you. As for me, I took him aside and just said a word in his ear. ‘The Marguerites will cost you dear,’ I told him. ‘A man of talent comes to you, you turn the cold shoulder on him, and send him into the arms of the newspapers.’”
“Dauriat will be dumfounded by the article on Nathan,” said Lousteau. “Do you see now what journalism is, Lucien? Your revenge is beginning to tell. The Baron Châtelet came here this morning for your address. There was a cutting article upon him in this morning’s issue; he is a weakling, that buck of the Empire, and he has lost his head. Have you seen the paper? It is a funny article. Look, ‘Funeral of the Heron, and the Cuttlefish-bone’s lament.’ Mme. de Bargeton is called the Cuttlefish-bone now, and no mistake, and Châtelet is known everywhere as Baron Heron.”