lf.

About's youthful talent was as precocious as his matured abilities are
brilliant, and he had at this time published a book. One evening during
the last season the present writer formed one of a group of three to
whom he narrated, in a most charming manner, how he had made the
acquaintance of the great publisher Hachette, a granddaughter of whom
was another of the trio. He had left his manuscript at the
publishing-house, and after some time was informed that the firm would
be happy to publish it, and to pay him in cash for the copyright eight
hundred francs--an offer with which he closed immediately. A week or so
later he was visited, to his astonishment, by the great publisher in
person. "Sir," began the latter, "it is often said that publishers don't
know how to read, and I myself know some who drive a thriving trade on
that principle. But I read occasionally the books which I publish, and I
have read yours. I am unable to approve the contract which my agent has
made with you. You have parted with your copyright for eight hundred
francs: I return to you the contract, you retain the copyright, and I
give you for the edition fifteen hundred francs." About was even more
touched by the publisher's kindness than he was gratified by his
generosity, and the two men mutually pleased each other--a fact which
the younger now proposed to turn to account in aid of his friend Taine.
So he went to M. Hachette with the following proposition: "I have a
friend named Taine, who is very ill, and I want you to send him to the
Pyrenees."--"But, M. About, I don't know your friend, and why, in
Heaven's name, should I send him to the Pyrenees?"--"But he is a genius,
he will be famous one day, and he will make your fortune. Your fortune
is already made, I know, but he will increase it." The publisher then
remarked that the name Taine was familiar to him, and finally dismissed
his enthusiastic author with a promise to consider the matter. In a few
days Taine received a note requesting him to come and dine with M.
Hachette at his country-place just outside of Paris. The two young men
were again in the depths of financial need, and all the money they could
scrape together was barely sufficient to pay for a railway-ticket. Taine
was quite nonplussed by the invitation--did not know what to make of it;
but About persuaded him to accept, saying that he would at least have a
good dinner, which was more than he could expect at home. And so he
went