Another anecdote will show the influence of a single article.

A book of M. de Chateaubriand’s on the last of the Stuarts was for some time a “nightingale” on the bookseller’s shelves.  A single article in the Journal des Debats sold the work in a week.  In those days, when there were no lending libraries, a publisher would sell an edition of ten thousand copies of a book by a Liberal if it was well reviewed by the Opposition papers; but then the Belgian pirated editions were not as yet.

The preparatory attacks made by Lucien’s friends, followed up by his article on Nathan, proved efficacious; they stopped the sale of his book.  Nathan escaped with the mortification; he had been paid; he had nothing to lose; but Dauriat was like to lose thirty thousand francs.  The trade in new books may, in fact, be summed up much on this wise.  A ream of blank paper costs fifteen francs, a ream of printed paper is worth anything between a hundred sous and a hundred crowns, according to its success; a favorable or unfavorable review at a critical time often decides the question; and Dauriat having five hundred reams of printed paper on hand, hurried to make terms with Lucien.  The sultan was now the slave.

After waiting for some time, fidgeting and making as much noise as he could while parleying with Berenice, he at last obtained speech of Lucien; and, arrogant publisher though he was, he came in with the radiant air of a courtier in the royal presence, mingled, however, with a certain self-sufficiency and easy good humor.

“Don’t disturb yourselves, my little dears!  How nice they look, just like a pair of turtle-doves!  Who would think now, mademoiselle, that he, with that girl’s face of his, could be a tiger with claws of steel, ready to tear a reputation to rags, just as he tears your wrappers, I’ll be bound, when you are not quick enough to unfasten them,” and he laughed before he had finished his jest.

“My dear boy——­” he began, sitting down beside Lucien.  —­“Mademoiselle, I am Dauriat,” he said, interrupting himself.  He judged it expedient to fire his name at her like a pistol shot, for he considered that Coralie was less cordial than she should have been.

“Have you breakfasted, monsieur; will you keep us company?” asked Coralie.

“Why, yes; it is easier to talk at table,” said Dauriat.  “Besides, by accepting your invitation I shall have a right to expect you to dine with my friend Lucien here, for we must be close friends now, hand and glove!”

“Berenice!  Bring oysters, lemons, fresh butter, and champagne,” said Coralie.

“You are too clever not to know what has brought me here,” said Dauriat, fixing his eyes on Lucien.

“You have come to buy my sonnets.”

“Precisely.  First of all, let us lay down our arms on both sides.”  As he spoke he took out a neat pocketbook, drew from it three bills for a thousand francs each, and laid them before Lucien with a suppliant air.  “Is monsieur content?” asked he.