tor 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.

"Why?" said Musette, blushing slightly.

She sat down on Marcel's knee. She was still shivering, and her hands
were blue.

"You were not free, then," whispered Marcel.

"I, not free!" exclaimed the girl. "Ah Marcel! If I were seated amongst
the stars in Paradise and you made me a sign to come down to you I
should do so. I, not free!"

She began to shiver again.

"There are five chairs here," said Rodolphe, "which is an odd number,
without reckoning that the fifth is of a ridiculous shape."

And breaking the chair against the wall, he threw the fragments into the
fireplace. The fire suddenly burst forth again in a bright and merry
flame, then