Part 46 (1/2)

”It is an atmospheric phenomenon I have noted,” said the philosopher. ”A wind from the north almost always means abstinence, as one from the south usually means pleasure and good cheer. It is what philosophy calls a warning from above.”

Gustave Colline's fasting jokes were savage ones.

At that moment Schaunard, who had plunged one of his hands into the abyss that served him as a pocket, withdrew it with a yell of pain.

”Help, there is something in my coat!” he cried, trying to free his hand, nipped fast in the claws of a live lobster.

To the cry he had uttered, another one replied. It came from Marcel, who, mechanically putting his hand into his pocket, had there discovered a silver mine that he had forgotten--that is to say, the hundred and fifty francs which Medici had given him the day before in payment for ”The Pa.s.sage of the Red Sea.”

Memory returned at the same moment to the Bohemians.

”Bow down, gentlemen,” said Marcel, spreading out on the table a pile of five-franc pieces, amongst which glittered some new louis.

”One would think they were alive,” said Colline.

”Sweet sounds!” said Schaunard, c.h.i.n.king the gold pieces together.

”How pretty these medals are!” said Rodolphe. ”One would take them for fragments of suns.h.i.+ne. If I were a king I would have no other small change, and would have them stamped with my mistress's portrait.”

”To think that there is a country where there are mere pebbles,” said Schaunard. ”The Americans used to give four of them for two sous. I had an ancestor who went to America. He was interred by the savages in their stomachs. It was a misfortune for the family.”

”Ah, but where does this animal come from?” inquired Marcel, looking at the lobster which had began to crawl about the room.

”I remember,” said Schaunard, ”that yesterday I took a turn in Medicis'

kitchen, I suppose the reptile accidentally fell into my pocket; these creatures are very short-sighted. Since I have got it,” added he, ”I should like to keep it. I will tame it and paint it red, it will look livelier. I am sad since Phemie's departure; it will be a companion to me.”

”Gentlemen,” exclaimed Colline, ”notice, I beg of you, that the weatherc.o.c.k has gone round to the south, we shall breakfast.”

”I should think so,” said Marcel, taking up a gold piece, ”here is something we will cook with plenty of sauce.”

They proceeded to a long and serious discussion on the bill of fare.

Each dish was the subject of an argument and a vote. Omelette souffle, proposed by Schaunard, was anxiously rejected, as were white wines, against which Marcel delivered an oration that brought out his oenophilistic knowledge.

”The first duty of wine is to be red,” exclaimed he, ”don't talk to me about your white wines.”

”But,” said Schaunard, ”Champagne--”

”Bah! A fas.h.i.+onable cider! An epileptic licorice-water. I would give all the cellars of Epernay and Ai for a single Burgundian cask. Besides, we have neither grisettes to seduce, nor a vaudeville to write. I vote against Champagne.”

The program once agreed upon, Schaunard and Colline went to the neighboring restaurant to order the repast.

”Suppose we have some fire,” said Marcel.

”As a matter of fact,” said Rodolphe, ”we should not be doing wrong, the thermometer has been inviting us to it for some time past. Let us have some fire and astonish the fireplace.”

He ran out on the landing and called to Colline to have some wood sent in. A few minutes later Schaunard and Colline came up again, followed by a charcoal dealer bearing a heavy bundle of firewood.

As Marcel was looking in a drawer for some spare paper to light the fire, he came by chance across a letter, the handwriting of which made him start, and which he began to read unseen by his friends.

It was a letter in pencil, written by Musette when she was living with Marcel and dated day for day a year ago. It only contained these words:--