fifty crowns in bright new silver.

"Keep them going," said Marcel; "that is a good beginning."

"Monsieur Marcel," said Medicis, "you know very well that my first word is
always my last word. I shall add nothing more. But think; fifty crowns;
that makes one hundred and fifty francs. That is quite a sum."

"A paltry sum," answered the artist; "just in the robe of my Pharaoh there
is fifty crowns' worth of cobalt. Pay me at least something for my work."

"Hear my last word," replied Medicis. "I will not add a penny more; but, I
offer dinner for the crowd, wines included, and after dessert I will pay
in gold."

"Do I hear any one object?" howled Colline, striking three blows of his
fist upon the table. "It is a bargain."

"Come on," said Marcel. "I agree."

"I will send for the picture to-morrow," said the Jew. "Come, gentlemen,
let us start. Your places are all set."

The four friends descended the stairs, singing the chorus from "The
Huguenots," "to the table, to the table."

Medicis treated the bohemians in a fashion altogether sumptuous. He
offered them a lot of things which up to now had remained for them a
mystery. Dating from this dinner, lobster ceased to be a myth to
Schaunard, and he acquired a passion for that amphibian which was destined
to increase to the verge of delirium.

The four friends went forth from this splendid feast as intoxicated as on
a day of vintage. Their inebriety came near bearing deplorable fruits for
Marcel, because as he passed the shop of his tailor, at two o'clock in the
morning, he absolutely insisted upon awakening his creditor in order to
give him, on account, the one hundred and fifty francs that he had just
received. But a gleam of reason still awake in the brain of Colline held
back the artist from the brink of this precipice.

A week after this festivity Marcel learned in what gallery his picture had
found a place. Passing along the Faubourg Saint-Honore, he stopped in the
midst of a crowd that seemed to be staring at a sign newly placed above a
shop. This sign was none other than Marcel's painting, which had been sold
by Medicis to a dealer in provisions. Only the "Passage of the Red Sea"
had once again undergone a modification and bore a new title. A steamboat
had been added to it, and it was now called "In the Port of Marseilles." A
flattering ovation arose among the crowd when they discovered the picture.
And Marcel turned away delighted with this triumph, and mur