Fendant was short and thin, and by no means reassuring of aspect.  With his low, narrow forehead, sunken nose, and hard mouth, he looked like a Kalmuck Tartar; a pair of small, wide-awake black eyes, the crabbed irregular outline of his countenance, a voice like a cracked bell—­the man’s whole appearance, in fact, combined to give the impression that this was a consummate rascal.  A honeyed tongue compensated for these disadvantages, and he gained his ends by talk.  Cavalier, a stout, thick-set young fellow, looked more like the driver of a mail coach than a publisher; he had hair of a sandy color, a fiery red countenance, and the heavy build and untiring tongue of a commercial traveler.

“There is no need to discuss this affair,” said Fendant, addressing Lucien and Lousteau.  “I have read the work, it is very literary, and so exactly the kind of thing we want, that I have sent it off as it is to the printer.  The agreement is drawn on the lines laid down, and besides, we always make the same stipulations in all cases.  The bills fall due in six, nine, and twelve months respectively; you will meet with no difficulty in discounting them, and we will refund you the discount.  We have reserved the right of giving a new title to the book.  We don’t care for The Archer of Charles IX.; it doesn’t tickle the reader’s curiosity sufficiently; there were several kings of that name, you see, and there were so many archers in the Middle Ages.  If you had only called it the Soldier of Napoleon, now!  But The Archer of Charles IX.!—­why, Cavalier would have to give a course of history lessons before he could place a copy anywhere in the provinces.”

“If you but knew the class of people that we have to do with!” exclaimed Cavalier.

“Saint Bartholomew would suit better,” continued Fendant.

“Catherine de’ Medici, or France under Charles IX., would sound more like one of Scott’s novels,” added Cavalier.

“We will settle it when the work is printed,” said Fendant.

“Do as you please, so long as I approve your title,” said Lucien.

The agreement was read over, signed in duplicate, and each of the contracting parties took their copy.  Lucien put the bills in his pocket with unequaled satisfaction, and the four repaired to Fendant’s abode, where they breakfasted on beefsteaks and oysters, kidneys in champagne, and Brie cheese; but if the fare was something of the homeliest, the wines were exquisite; Cavalier had an acquaintance a traveler in the wine trade.  Just as they sat down to table the printer appeared, to Lucien’s surprise, with the first two proof-sheets.

“We want to get on with it,” Fendant said; “we are counting on your book; we want a success confoundedly badly.”

The breakfast, begun at noon, lasted till five o’clock.

“Where shall we get cash for these things?” asked Lucien as they came away, somewhat heated and flushed with the wine.