These details of Lousteau’s life and fortune are indispensable, for this penury and this bohemian existence of a man to whom Parisian luxury had become a necessity, were fated to have a cruel influence on Dinah’s life. Those to whom the bohemia of Paris is familiar will now understand how it was that, by the end of a fortnight, the journalist, up to his ears in the literary environment, could laugh about his Baroness with his friends and even with Madame Schontz. To such readers as regard such things as utterly mean, it is almost useless to make excuses which they will not accept.
“What did you do at Sancerre?” asked Bixiou the first time he met Lousteau.
“I did good service to three worthy provincials—a Receiver-General of Taxes, a little cousin of his, and a Public Prosecutor, who for ten years had been dancing round and round one of the hundred ‘Tenth Muses’ who adorn the Departments,” said he. “But they had no more dared to touch her than we touch a decorated cream at dessert till some strong-minded person has made a hole in it.”
“Poor boy!” said Bixiou. “I said you had gone to Sancerre to turn Pegasus out to grass.”
“Your joke is as stupid as my Muse is handsome,” retorted Lousteau. “Ask Bianchon, my dear fellow.”
“A Muse and a Poet! A homoeopathic cure then!” said Bixiou.
On the tenth day Lousteau received a letter with the Sancerre post-mark.
“Good! very good!” said Lousteau.
“‘Beloved friend, idol of my heart and soul——’ twenty pages of it! all at one sitting, and dated midnight! She writes when she finds herself alone. Poor woman! Ah, ha! And a postscript—
“‘I dare not ask you to write to me as I write, every day; still, I hope to have a few lines from my dear one every week, to relieve my mind.’—What a pity to burn it all! it is really well written,” said Lousteau to himself, as he threw the ten sheets of paper into the fire after having read them. “That woman was born to reel off copy!”