Three days after this bootless errand, Lucien and Coralie were breakfasting in melancholy spirits beside the fire in their pretty bedroom.  Berenice had cooked a dish of eggs for them over the grate; for the cook had gone, and the coachman and servants had taken leave.  They could not sell the furniture, for it had been attached; there was not a single object of any value in the house.  A goodly collection of pawntickets, forming a very instructive octavo volume, represented all the gold, silver, and jewelry.  Berenice had kept back a couple of spoons and forks, that was all.

Lousteau’s newspaper was of service now to Coralie and Lucien, little as they suspected it; for the tailor, dressmaker, and milliner were afraid to meddle with a journalist who was quite capable of writing down their establishments.

Etienne Lousteau broke in upon their breakfast with a shout of “Hurrah!  Long live The Archer of Charles IX.!  And I have converted a hundred francs worth of books into cash, children.  We will go halves.”

He handed fifty francs to Coralie, and sent Berenice out in quest of a more substantial breakfast.

“Hector Merlin and I went to a booksellers’ trade dinner yesterday, and prepared the way for your romance with cunning insinuations.  Dauriat is in treaty, but Dauriat is haggling over it; he won’t give more than four thousand francs for two thousand copies, and you want six thousand francs.  We made you out twice as great as Sir Walter Scott!  Oh! you have such novels as never were in the inwards of you.  It is not a mere book for sale, it is a big business; you are not simply the writer of one more or less ingenious novel, you are going to write a whole series.  The word ‘series’ did it!  So, mind you, don’t forget that you have a great historical series on hand—­La Grande Mademoiselle, or The France of Louis Quatorze; Cotillon I., or The Early Days of Louis Quinze; The Queen and the Cardinal, or Paris and the Fronde; The Son of the Concini, or Richelieu’s Intrigue.  These novels will be announced on the wrapper of the book.  We call this manoeuvre ‘giving a success a toss in the coverlet,’ for the titles are all to appear on the cover, till you will be better known for the books that you have not written than for the work you have done.  And ‘In the Press’ is a way of gaining credit in advance for work that you will do.  Come, now, let us have a little fun!  Here comes the champagne.  You can understand, Lucien, that our men opened eyes as big as saucers.  By the by, I see that you have saucers still left.”

“They are attached,” explained Coralie.

“I understand, and I resume.  Show a publisher one manuscript volume and he will believe in all the rest.  A publisher asks to see your manuscript, and gives you to understand that he is going to read it.  Why disturb his harmless vanity?  They never read a manuscript; they would not publish so many if they did.  Well, Hector and I allowed it to leak out that you might consider an offer of five thousand francs for three thousand copies, in two editions.  Let me have your Archer; the day after to-morrow we are to breakfast with the publishers, and we will get the upper hand of them.”