ar,
Feigns not to see the girl: which makes her mad.

RUD. (_to MIMI_)
Now let me tell you
I never would forgive you.

MIMI. (_to RUDOLPH_)
I love you, love you fondly,
Am wholly yours, my dearest! (_eating_)

COL. What's that about forgiveness?

(_coquettishly watching MARCEL, who becomes agitated_)

MUS. (_watching MARCEL; in a loud voice to MARCEL_) Why, don't you
know me?

ALC. (_thinking MUSETTA spoke to him_) Well, I'm giving the order,
dear.

MUS. (_as above_) But your heart is a-throbbing!

ALC. (_as above_) Not so loud.

MUS. (_to herself_) But your heart is a-throbbing!

ALC. Do be quiet!

MUS. As through the streets I wander onward merrily,
See how the folk look round,
Because they know I'm charming,
A very charming girl.
And then 'tis mine to mark the hidden longing,
And all the passion in their eyes;
And then the joy of conquest overcomes me,
Every man is my prize!

And thus their hearts, their hearts I capture,
As if by magic all my own, ah! rapture!
Tis mine alone!
Now you that once your love for me betrayed,
Why should you be dismayed?
Yet though deep in your heart
Rankles the smart.
You'd ne'er confess--but rather die!

(_SCHAUNARD and COLLINE rise and stand aside, watching the scene
with interest, while RUDOLPH and MIMI remain seated and continue
their talk. MARCEL nervously quits his seat, and is about
to go, but is spell-bound by MUSETTA'S voice._)

ALC. This odious singing upsets me entirely!

(_ALCINDORO vainly endeavors to induce MUSETTA to resume her seat
at the table where the supper is ready._)

MIMI. (_to RUDOLPH_)
Oh! now I see that this unhappy maiden
Adores your friend Marcel madly!

RUD. She once was Marcel's love;
She wantonly forsook her fate,
And rarer game she thought to capture!

MIMI. The love that's born of passion ends in grief;
That poor, unhappy girl!
She moves me to tears!

RUD. Who can revive a love that's dead?

MAR. Hold me back! hold me back!

COL. Who knows what will happen now?
Goodness me! 'tis most unpleasant!
Anyhow, it is for me!
She is pretty, I don't doubt it;
Yet I would rather have
My pipe and a page of Homer!

SCH. See the braggart in a moment will give in;
The snare for some is pleasant,
For the biter and the bit.

(_to COLLINE_)

If such a pretty damsel
Should but make eyes at you,
You'd forget your mouldy classics,
And run to fetch her shoe.

MUS. Ah! Marcel you are vanquished!
And though your heart is brea