Blancheron, "an in return, I hope you will do
me the honor of keeping me company at table."

Schaunard bowed. "Really," said he to himself, "this is a fine fellow--a
very god-send. Will you order the dinner?" he asked his Amphitryon.

"You will oblige me by taking that trouble," replied the other,
politely.

"So much the worse for you, my boy," said the painter as he pitched down
the stairs, four steps at a time. Marching up to the counter, he wrote
out a bill of fare that made the Vatel of the establishment turn pale.

"Claret! Who's to pay for it?"

"Probably not I," said Schaunard, "but an uncle of mine that you will
find up there, a very good judge. So, do your best, and let us have
dinner in half an hour, served on your porcelain."

At eight o'clock, Monsieur Blancheron felt the necessity of pouring into
a friend's ear his idea on the sugar question, and accordingly recited
his pamphlet to Schaunard, who accompanied him on the piano.

At ten, they danced the galop together.

At eleven, they swore never to separate, and to make wills in each
other's favor.

At twelve, Marcel returned, and found them locked in a mutual embrace,
and dissolved in tears. The floor was half an inch deep in fluid--either
from that cause or the liquor that had been spilt. He stumbled against
the table, and remarked the splendid relics of the sumptuous feast. He
tried the bottles, they were utterly empty. He attempted to rouse
Schaunard, but the later menaced him with speedy death, if he tore him
from his friend Blancheron, of whom he was making a pillow.

"Ungrateful wretch!" said Marcel, taking out of his pocket a handful of
nuts, "when I had brought him some dinner!"

CHAPTER III

LENTEN LOVES

One evening in Lent Rodolphe returned home early with the idea of
working. But scarcely had he sat down at his table and dipped his pen in
the ink than he was disturbed by a singular noise. Putting his ear to
the treacherous partition that separated him from the next room, he
listened, and plainly distinguished a dialogue broken by the sound of
kisses and other amourous interruptions.

"The deuce," thought Rodolphe, glancing at his clock, "it is still
early, and my neighbor is a Juliet who usually keeps her Romeo till long
after the lark has sung. I cannot work tonight."

And taking his hat he went out. Handing in his key at the porter's
lodge he found the porter's wife half clasped in the arms of a gallant.
The poor wom