“I shall succeed!”
“You haven’t a penny!”
“I shall write a play!”
“It will fall dead.”
“Let it,” said Nathan.
He paced up and down Florine’s room, followed by Blondet, who thought he had gone crazy; he cast covetous glances on the costly treasures piled up around; then Blondet understood him.
“There’s more than one hundred thousand francs’ worth here,” said Émile.
“Yes,” said Raoul, with a sigh towards Florine’s sumptuous bed; “but I would sell patent safety-chains on the boulevards and live on fried potatoes all my life rather than sell a single patera from these rooms.”
“Not one patera, no,” said Blondet, “but the whole lot! Ambition is like death; it clutches all because life, it knows, is hounding it on.”
“No! a thousand times, no! I would accept anything from that Countess of yesterday, but to rob Florine of her nest? …”
“To overthrow one’s mint,” said Blondet, with a tragic air, “to smash up the coining-press, and break the stamp, is certainly serious.”
“From what I can gather, you are abandoning the stage for politics,” said Florine, suddenly breaking in on them.
“Yes, my child, yes,” said Raoul good-naturedly, putting his arm round her neck and kissing her forehead. “Why that frown? It will be no loss to you. Won’t the minister be better placed than the journalist for getting a first-rate engagement for the queen of the boards? You will still have your parts and your holidays.”
“Where is the money to come from?” she asked.
“From my uncle,” replied Raoul.
Florine knew this “uncle.” The word meant a moneylender, just as “my aunt” was the vulgar name for a pawnbroker.
“Don’t bother yourself, my pretty one,” said Blondet to Florine, patting her on the shoulder. “I will get Massol to help him. He’s a barrister, and, like the rest of them, intends to have a turn at being Minister of Justice. Then there’s du Tillet, who wants a seat in the Chamber; Finot, who is still backing a society paper; Plantin, who has his eye on a post under the Conseil d’État, and who has some share in a magazine. No fear! I won’t let him ruin himself. We will get a meeting here with Étienne Lousteau, who will do the light stuff, and Claude Vignon for the serious criticism. Félicien Vernou will be the charwoman of the paper, the barrister will sweat for it, du Tillet will look after trade and the Exchange, and we shall see where this union of determined men and their tools will land us.”
“In the workhouse or on the Government bench, those refuges for the ruined in body or mind,” said Raoul.
“What about the dinner?”
“We’ll have it here,” said Raoul, “five days hence.”
“Let me know how much you need,” said Florine simply.
“Why, the barrister, du Tillet, and Raoul can’t start with less than one hundred thousand francs apiece,” said Blondet. “That will run the paper very well for eighteen months, time enough to make a hit or miss in Paris.”
Florine made a gesture of approval. The two friends then took a cab and set out in quest of guests, pens, ideas, and sources of support. The beautiful actress on her part sent for four dealers in furniture, curiosities, pictures, and jewelry. The dealers, who were all men of substance, entered the sanctuary and made an inventory of its whole contents, just as though Florine were dead. She threatened them with a public auction in case they hardened their hearts in hopes of a better opportunity. She had, she told them, excited the admiration of an English lord in a medieval part, and she wished to dispose of all her personal property, in order that her apparently destitute condition might move him to present her with a splendid house, which she would furnish as a rival to Rothschilds’. With all her arts, she only succeeded in getting an offer of seventy thousand francs for the whole of the spoil, which was well worth one hundred and fifty thousand. Florine, who did not care a button for the things, promised they should be handed over in seven days for eighty thousand francs.
“You can take it or leave it,” she said.
The bargain was concluded. When the dealers had gone, the actress skipped for joy, like the little hills of King David. She could not contain herself for delight; never had she dreamed of such wealth. When Raoul returned, she pretended to be offended with him, and declared that she was deserted. She saw through it all now; men don’t change their party or leave the stage for the Chamber without some reason. There must be a rival! Her instinct told her so! Vows of eternal love rewarded her little comedy.
Five days later, Florine gave a magnificent entertainment. The ceremony of christening the paper was then performed amidst floods of wine and wit, oaths of fidelity, of good fellowship, and of serious alliance. The name, forgotten now, like the Libéral, the Communal, the Départemental, the Garde National, the Fédéral, the Impartial, was something which ended in al, and was bound not to take. Descriptions of banquets have been so numerous in a literary period which had more firsthand experience of starving in an attic, that it would be difficult to do justice to Florine’s. Suffice it to say that, at three in the morning, Florine
