crowd gradually
moves off as it follows the patrol. Meanwhile ALCINDORO, with
a pair of shoes carefully wrapped up, returns to the cafe in search
of MUSETTA. The waiter by the table takes up the bill left by
MUSETTA and ceremoniously hands it to ALCINDORO, who, seeing
the amount, and perceiving that they have all left him there alone,
falls back into a chair, utterly dumbfounded._)

ACT III

"Mimi's voice seemed to go through Rudolph's heart like a death-knell.
His love for her was a jealous, fantastic, weird, hysterical
love. Scores of times they were on the point of separating.

"It must be admitted that their existence was a veritable
'hell-up-on-earth.'

"Thus (if life it was) did they live; a few happy days alternating
with many wretched ones, while perpetually awaiting a divorce."

"Either as a congenital defect or as a natural instinct, Musetta
possessed a positive genius for elegance.

"Even in her cradle this strange creature must surely have asked for
a mirror.

"Intelligent, shrewd, and above all, hostile to anything that she
considered tyranny, she had but one rule--caprice.

"In truth the only man that she really loved was Marcel; perhaps
because he alone could make her suffer. Yet extravagance was for her
one of the conditions of well-being."

ACT III

_Beyond the toll-gate, the outer boulevard is formed in the background
by the Orleans high-road, half hidden by tall houses and the misty
gloom of February. To the left is a tavern with a small open space in
front of the toll-gate. To the right is the Boulevard d'Enfer; to the
left, that of St. Jacques.

On the right also there is the entrance of the Rue d'Enfer, leading to
the Quartier Latin.

Over the tavern, as its sign-board, hangs MARCEL's picture, "The
Passage of the Red Sea," while underneath, in large letters, is the
inscription. "At the Port of Marseilles." On either side of the door
are frescoes of a Turk and a Zouave with a huge laurel-wreath round
his fez. From the ground-floor windows of the tavern, which faces the
toll-gate, light gleams. The plane-trees, grey and gaunt, which flank
the toll-gate square, lead diagonally towards the two boulevards.
Between each tree is a marble bench. It is towards the close of
February; snow covers all.

As the curtain rises, the scene is merged in the dim light of early
dawn. In front of a brazier are seated, in a group, snoring
custom-house officers. From the tavern at in