"Madame," observed Colline, who had ceased to take the fresh air, to
Mimi, "Champagne is iced with ice. Ice is formed by the condensation of
water, in Latin aqua. Water freezes at two degrees, and there are four
seasons, spring, summer, autumn, and winter, which was the cause of the
retreat from Moscow."

All at once Colline suddenly slapped Rodolphe on the shoulder, and in a
thick voice that seemed to mash all the syllables together, said to
him--

"Tomorrow is Thursday, is it not?"

"No," replied Rodolphe. "Tomorrow is Sunday."

"Thursday."

"No, I tell you. Tomorrow is Sunday."

"Sunday!" said Colline, wagging his head, "not a bit of it, it is
Thursday."

And he fell asleep, making a mold for a cast of his face in the cream
cheese that was before him in his plate.

"What is he harping about Thursday?" observed Marcel.

"Ah, I have it!" said Rodolphe, who began to understand the persistency
of the philosopher, tormented by a fixed idea, "it is on account of his
article in 'The Beaver.' Listen, he is dreaming of it aloud."

"Good," said Schaunard. "He shall not have any coffee, eh, madame?"

"By the way," said Rodolphe, "pour out the coffee, Mimi."

The latter was about to rise, when Colline, who had recovered a little
self possession, caught her around the waist and whispered
confidentially in her ear:

"Madame, the coffee plant is a native of Arabia, where it was discovered
by a goat. Its use expanded to Europe. Voltaire used to drink seventy
cups a day. I like mine without sugar, but very hot."

"Good heavens! What a learned man!" thought Mimi as she brought the
coffee and pipes.

However time was getting on, midnight had long since struck, and
Rodolphe sought to make his guests understand that it was time for them
to withdraw. Marcel, who retained all his senses, got up to go.

But Schaunard perceived that there was still some brandy in a bottle,
and declared that it could not be midnight so long as there was any
left. As to Colline, he was sitting astride his chair and murmuring in a
low voice:

"Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday."

"Hang it all," said Rodolphe, greatly embarrassed, "I cannot give them
quarters here tonight; formerly it was all very well, but now it is
another thing," he added, looking at Mimi, whose softly kindling eyes
seemed to appeal for solitude for their two selves. "What is to be
done? Give me a bit of advice, Marcel. Invent a trick to get rid of
them."

"No