rained
looks, and bitter smiles, the impressionable young man felt with a
sudden sadness that they already envied him.

"I warned you of it," said Paul Sillery to him, as he led him into a
corner of the cafe. "Our good friends are not pleased, and that is very
natural. The greater part of these rhymers are 'cheap jewellers,' and
they are jealous of a master workman. Above all things, pretend not
to notice it; they will never forgive you for guessing their bad
sentiments. And then you must be indulgent to them. You have your
beautiful lieutenant's epaulettes, Violette, do not be too hard upon
these poor privates. They also are fighting under the poetic flag, and
ours is a poverty-stricken regiment. Now you must profit by your good
luck. Here you are, celebrated in forty-eight hours. Do you see, even
the political people look at you with curiosity, although a poet in the
estimation of these austere persons is an inferior and useless being.
It is all they will do to accept Victor Hugo, and only on account of his
'Chatiments.' You are the lion of the day. Lose no time. I met just now
upon the boulevard Massif, the publisher. He had read 'Le Tapage' and
expects you. Carry him all your poems to-morrow; there will be enough to
make a volume. Massif will publish it at his own expense, and you will
appear before the public in one month. You never will inveigle a second
time that big booby of a Gaillard, who took a mere passing fancy for
you. But no matter! I know your book, and it will be a success. You are
launched. Forward, march! Truly, I am better than I thought, for your
success gives me pleasure."

This amiable comrade's words easily dissipated the painful feelings
that Amedee had just experienced. However, it was one of those exalted
moments when one will not admit that evil exists. He spent some time
with the poets, forcing himself to be more gracious and friendly than
ever, and left them persuaded--the unsuspecting child!--that he had
disarmed them by his modesty; and very impatient to share his joy with
his friends, the Gerards, he quickly walked the length of Montmartre and
reached them just at their dinner hour.

They did not expect him, and only had for their dinner the remains of
the boiled beef of the night before, with some cucumbers. Amedee carried
his cake, as usual, and, what was better still, two sauces that always
make the poorest meal palatable--hope and happiness.

They had already read the journals an