"I want to make things snug for you here, lest Etienne should bamboozle you," continued Finot, looking knowingly at Lucien. "This gentleman will be paid three francs per column all round, including theatres."
"You have never taken any one on such terms before," said Giroudeau, opening his eyes.
"And he will take the four Boulevard theatres. See that nobody sneaks his boxes, and that he gets his share of tickets.—I should advise you, nevertheless, to have them sent to your address," he added, turning to Lucien.—"And he agrees to write besides ten miscellaneous articles of two columns each, for fifty francs per month, for one year. Does that suit you?"
"Yes," said Lucien. Circumstances had forced his hand.
"Draw up the agreement, uncle, and we will sign it when we come downstairs."
"Who is the gentleman?" inquired Giroudeau, rising and taking off his black silk skull-cap.
"M. Lucien de Rubempre, who wrote the article on The Alcalde."
"Young man, you have a gold mine there," said the old soldier, tapping Lucien on the forehead. "I am not literary myself, but I read that article of yours, and I liked it. That is the kind of thing! There's gaiety for you! 'That will bring us new subscribers,' says I to myself. And so it did. We sold fifty more numbers."
"Is my agreement with Lousteau made out in duplicate and ready to sign?" asked Finot, speaking aside.
"Yes."