ng. The same day you bought
(the sight still makes me tremble!) thirteen cents' worth of
pipes. The second of November we bought twenty-two cents' worth of
ribbon: this enormous quantity of ribbon was purchased to give the
last touches to our famous sofa. Our sofa's history would fill
volumes. It did us yeoman's service. My pallet on the floor,
formed of one single mattress and sheets without counterpane, made
a poor show in our 'drawing-room,' especially as a
restaurant-keeper lived in our house, and you pretended, that, if
we made him bring our meals up to our 'drawing-room,' he would be
so dazzled by our splendor he could not refuse us credit. I
demurred, that the odd appearance of my pallet had nothing capable
of fascinating a tradesman's eye; whereupon we agreed that we
would spread over it a piece of violet silk which came, Heaven
knows where from; but, unfortunately, the silk was not large
enough by one-third. After long reflection we thought the library
might be turned to some account: the quarto volumes of Shakspeare,
thrown with cunning negligence on the pallet, hid the narrowness
of the silk, and concealed the sheets from every eye. We managed
in this way to contrive a sofa. I may add, that the keeper of the
restaurant dedicated to the 'Guardian Angel,' who had no customers
except hack-drivers and bricklayers, was caught by our innocent
intrigues. On this same second of November we paid an immense sum
of money to the laundress,--one whole dollar. I crossed the Pont
des Arts, proud as a member of the Institute, and entered with a
stiff upper-lip the Cafe Momus. You remember this beneficent
establishment, which we discovered, gave half a cup of coffee for
five cents, until bread rose, when the price went up to six cents,
a measure which so discontented many of the frequenters that they
carried their custom elsewhere. I passed the evening at Laurent's
room. I must have been seized with vertigo,--for I actually lost
ten cents at _ecarte_, ten cents which we had appropriated to the
purchase of roasted chestnuts. Poor Laurent, who was such a
democrat, who used to go 'at the head of the schools' to see
Beranger, is dead and gone now! His poems were too revolutionary
for this world.

"You resolved on the third of November that we would cook our own
victuals as long as th