Part 50 (1/2)

”I suspected something was up,” she continued. ”I had an eye on them all the evening. He is very sharp, that youngster. In short, they have gone off on the quiet, and it would take a sharp one to catch them up. All the same, it is very funny when one thinks how fond Musette is of her Marcel.”

”If she is so fond of him, what is the use of Seraphin, almost a lad, and who had never had a mistress?” said a young fellow.

”She wants to teach him to read, perhaps,” said the journalist, who was very stupid when he had been losing.

”All the same,” said Sidonie, ”what does she want with Seraphin when she is in love with Marcel? That is what gets over me.”

For five days the Bohemians went on leading the happiest life in the world without stirring out. They remained at table from morning till night. An admired disorder reigned in the room which was filled with a Pantagruelic atmosphere. On a regular bed of oyster sh.e.l.ls reposed an army of empty bottles of every size and shape. The table was laden with fragments of every description, and a forest of wood blazed in the fireplace.

On the sixth day Colline, who was director of ceremonies, drew up, as was his wont every morning, the bill of fare for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and supper, and submitted it to the approval of his friends, who each initialed it in token of approbation.

But when Colline opened the drawer that served as a cashbox, in order to take the money necessary for the day's consumption, he started back and became as pale as Banquo's ghost.

”What is the matter?” inquired the others, carelessly.

”The matter is that there are only thirty sous left,” replied the philosopher.

”The deuce. That will cause some modification in our bill of fare.

Well, thirty sous carefully laid out--. All the same it will be difficult to run to truffles,” said the others.

A few minutes later the table was spread. There were three dishes most symmetrically arranged--a dish of herrings, a dish of potatoes, and a dish of cheese.

On the hearth smoldered two little brands as big as one's fist.

Snow was still falling without.

The four Bohemians sat down to table and gravely unfolded their napkins.

”It is strange,” said Marcel, ”this herring has a flavor of pheasant.”

”That is due to the way in which I cooked it,” replied Colline. ”The herring has never been properly appreciated.”

At that moment a joyous song rose on the staircase, and a knock came at the door. Marcel, who had not been able to help shuddering, ran to open it.

Musette threw her arms round his neck and held him in an embrace for five minutes. Marcel felt her tremble in his arms.

”What is the matter?” he asked.

”I am cold,” said Musette, mechanically drawing near the fireplace.

”Ah!” said Marcel. ”And we had such a rattling good fire.”

”Yes,” said Musette, glancing at the remains of the five days'

festivity, ”I have come too late.”

”Why?” said Marcel.