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Updated: May 21, 2025
At the beginning of October, Lucien had spent the last of his money on a little firewood; he was half-way through the task of recasting his work, the most strenuous of all toil, and he was penniless. As for Daniel d'Arthez, burning blocks of spent tan, and facing poverty like a hero, not a word of complaint came from him; he was as sober as any elderly spinster, and methodical as a miser.
"And what would become of European federation?" asked d'Arthez. "Ah! true," replied Michel Chrestien. "Our duty to Humanity comes first; to one man afterwards." "I came here with a heart full of gratitude to you all," said Lucien. "You have changed my alloy into golden coin." "Gratitude! For what do you take us?" asked Bianchon. "We had the pleasure," added Fulgence.
"And yet, here is Monsieur d'Esgrignon of an old family of Alencon, who completely ruined himself for her some twelve years ago, and, if all is true, came very near going to the scaffold." "I know the particulars of that affair," said d'Arthez. "Madame de Cadignan went to Alencon to save Monsieur d'Esgrignon from a trial before the court of assizes; and this is how he rewards her to-day!"
When coffee was served, Blondet and Nathan went up to d'Arthez with an eagerness no one else dared to imitate, so unable were the rest of the company to show the admiration his conduct inspired from the fear of making two powerful enemies. "This is not the first time we have seen that your character equals your talent in grandeur," said Blondet.
Next morning d'Arthez sent back his article, recast throughout, and Lucien sent it in to the review; but from that day melancholy preyed upon him, and he could not always disguise his mood. That evening, when the theatre was full, he experienced for the first time the paroxysm of nervous terror caused by a debut; terror aggravated in his case by all the strength of his love.
"No; we have come on more serious business than condolence," said d'Arthez; "we know the whole story, we have just come from the Rue de Vendome. You know my opinions, Lucien. Under any other circumstances I should be glad to hear that you had adopted my political convictions; but situated as you are with regard to the Liberal Press, it is impossible for you to go over to the Ultras.
That youthful journalist would, doubtless, explain the mysteries that enveloped the paper for which he wrote. Since the day, a hundred times blessed, when Lucien made the acquaintance of Daniel d'Arthez, he had taken another seat at Flicoteaux's.
"At this moment I tremble, I am ashamed as though I had committed the greatest sins." She was now entirely restored to the innocence of little girls, and yet her bearing was august, grand, noble as that of a queen. It is impossible to describe the effect of these manoeuvres, so clever that they acted like the purest truth on a soul as fresh and honest as that of d'Arthez.
His friends were learned naturalists, young doctors of medicine, political writers and artists, a number of earnest students full of promise. D'Arthez earned a living by conscientious and ill-paid work; he wrote articles for encyclopaedias, dictionaries of biography and natural science, doing just enough to enable him to live while he followed his own bent, and neither more nor less.
Perhaps the world and its pleasures tempt you? Stay with us. Carry all the cravings of vanity into the world of imagination. Transpose folly. Keep virtue for daily wear, and let imagination run riot, instead of doing, as d'Arthez says, thinking high thoughts and living beneath them." Lucien hung his head. His friends were right.
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