Why, a Public Prosecutor gets but a thousand crowns!"

"Monsieur Gatien," said Madame Chandier, "get Monsieur Lousteau to talk
a little louder. I have not heard him yet."

"What pretty boots he wears," said Mademoiselle Chandier to her brother,
"and how they shine!"

"Yes--patent leather."

"Why haven't you the same?"

Lousteau began to feel that he was too much on show, and saw in the
manners of the good townsfolk indications of the desires that had
brought them there.

"What trick can I play them?" thought he.

At this moment the footman, so called--a farm-servant put into
livery--brought in the letters and papers, and among them a packet
of proof, which the journalist left for Bianchon; for Madame de la
Baudraye, on seeing the parcel, of which the form and string were
obviously from the printers, exclaimed:

"What, does literature pursue you even here?"

"Not literature," replied he, "but a review in which I am now finishing
a story to come out ten days hence. I have reached the stage of '_To
be concluded in our next_,' so I was obliged to give my address to
the printer. Oh, we eat very hard-earned bread at the hands of these
speculators in black and white! I will give you a description of these
editors of magazines."

"When will the conversation begin?" Madame de Clagny asked of Dinah, as
one might ask, "When do the fireworks go off?"

"I fancied we should hear some amusing stories," said Madame Popinot to
her cousin, the Presidente Boirouge.

At this moment, when the good folks of Sancerre were beginning to murmur
like an impatient pit, Lousteau observed that Bianchon was lost in
meditation inspired by the wrapper round the proofs.

"What is it?" asked Etienne.

"Why, here is the most fascinating romance possible on some spoiled
proof used to wrap yours in. Here, read it. _Olympia, or Roman
Revenge_."

"Let us see," said Lousteau, taking the sheet the doctor held out to
him, and he read aloud as follows:--

240 OLYMPIA

cavern. Rinaldo, indignant at his
companions' cowardice, for they had
no courage but in the open field, and
dared not venture into Rome, looked
at them with scorn.

"Then I go alone?" said he. He
seemed to reflect, and then he went
on: "You are poor wretches. I shall
proceed alone, and have the rich
booty to myself.--You hear me!
Farewell."

"My Captain," said Lamberti, "if
you should be captured without
having succeeded?"