"It is a weak point which had already presented itself to me. Could I
have constructed the situation to my liking, Labaregue would have the
custom to type-write his notices; however, as he is so inconsiderate as
to knock them off in the Cafe de l'Europe, he has not that custom, and
we must adapt ourselves to the circumstances that exist. The
probability is that a criticism delivered by the accredited messenger,
and signed with the familiar 'J.L.' will be passed without question;
the difference in the handwriting may be attributed to an amanuensis.
When the great man writes his next notice, I shall make it my business
to be taking a bock in the Cafe de l'Europe, in order that I may
observe closely what happens. There is to be a repetition generale at
the Vaudeville on Monday night--on Monday night, therefore, I hope to
advise you of our plan of campaign. Now do not speak to me any more--I
am about to compose a eulogy on Claudine, for which Labaregue will, in
due course, receive the credit."

The poet fell asleep at last, murmuring dithyrambic phrases; and if you
suppose that in the soberness of daylight he renounced his harebrained
project, it is certain that you have never lived with Tricotrin in
Montmartre.

No, indeed, he did not renounce it. On Monday night--or rather in the
small hours of Tuesday morning--he awoke Pitou with enthusiasm.

"Mon vieux," he exclaimed, "the evening has been well spent! I have
observed, and I have reflected. When he quitted the Vaudeville,
Labaregue entered the Cafe de l'Europe, seated himself at his favourite
table, and wrote without cessation for half an hour. When his critique
was finished, he placed it in an envelope, and commanded his supper.