“You are not much hurt with your ten subscriptions. I had two good notices put into the Constitutionnel.”
“Oh! I am not complaining of you,” cried the manager.
“Good-bye till to-morrow evening, Lousteau,” said Finot. “You can give me your answer at the Français; there is a new piece on there; and as I shall not be able to write the notice, you can take my box. I will give you preference; you have worked yourself to death for me, and I am grateful. Félicien Vernou offered twenty thousand francs for a third share of my little paper, and to work without a salary for a twelvemonth; but I want to be absolute master. Good-bye.”
“He is not named Finot” (finaud, slyboots) “for nothing,” said Lucien.
“He is a gallows-bird that will get on in the world,” said Etienne, careless whether the wily schemer overheard the remark or not, as he shut the door of the box.
“He!” said the manager. “He will be a millionaire; he will enjoy the respect of all who know him; he may perhaps have friends some day——”
“Good heavens! what a den!” said Lucien. “And are you going to drag that excellent creature into such a business?” he continued, looking at Florine, who gave them side glances from the stage.
“She will carry it through too. You do not know the devotion and the wiles of these beloved beings,” said Lousteau.
“They redeem their failings and expiate all their sins by boundless love, when they love,” said the manager. “A great love is all the grander in an actress by reason of its violent contrast with her surroundings.”
“And he who finds it, finds a diamond worthy of the proudest crown lying in the mud,” returned Lousteau.