was one most dangerous to Rodolphe.

"Today," said he, "the streets are paved with creditors."

However, he did not go along by the outer Boulevards, as he had felt
inclined to. A fanciful hope, on the contrary, urged him to follow the
perilous itinerary of central Paris. Rodolphe thought that on a day when
millions were going about the thoroughfares in the money-cases of bank
messengers, it might happen that a thousand franc note, abandoned on the
roadside, might lie awaiting its Good Samaritan. Thus he walked slowly
along with his eyes on the ground. But he only found two pins.

After a two hours' walk he got to Schaunard's.

"Ah, it's you," said the latter.

"Yes, I have come to ask you for some breakfast."

"Ah, my dear fellow, you come at the wrong time. My mistress has just
arrived, and I have not seen her for a fortnight. If you had only called
ten minutes earlier."

"Well, have you got a hundred francs to lend me?"

"What! you too!" exclaimed Schaunard, in the height of astonishment.
"You have come to ask me for money! You, in the ranks of my enemies!"

"I will pay you back on Monday."

"Or at the Greek Calends. My dear fellow, you surely forget what day it
is. I can do nothing for you. But there is no reason to despair; the
day is not yet over. You may still meet with Providence, who never gets
up before noon."

"Ah!" replied Rodolphe, "Providence has too much to do looking after
little birds. I will go and see Marcel."

Marcel was then residing in the Rue de Breda. Rodolphe found him in a
very downcast mood, contemplating his great picture that was to
represent the passage of the Red Sea.

"What is the matter?" asked Rodolphe, as he entered. "You seem quite in
the dumps."

"Alas!" replied the painter, in allegorical language, "for the last
fortnight it has been Holy Week."

"Red herrings and black radishes. Good, I remember."

Indeed, Rodolphe's memory was still salt with the remembrance of a time
when he had been reduced to the exclusive consumption of the fish in
question.

"The deuce," said he, "that is serious. I came to borrow a hundred
francs of you."

"A hundred francs," said Marcel. "You are always in the clouds. The idea
of coming and asking me for that mythological amount at a period when
one is always under the equator of necessity. You must have been taking
hashish."

"Alas!" said Rodolphe, "I have not been taking anything at all."

And he left his friend on the banks of