going to stop here, and I shall stay here as long as
the flowers you have just given me remain unfaded."

"Ah!" exclaimed Marcel, "they will fade in a couple of days. If I had
known I would have bought immortelles."

* * * * *

For a fortnight Musette and Marcel lived together, and led, although
often without money, the most charming life in the world. Musette felt
for the artist an affection which had nothing in common with her
preceding passions, and Marcel began to fear that he was seriously in
love with his mistress. Ignorant that she herself was very much afraid
of being equally smitten, he glanced every morning at the condition of
the flowers, the death of which was to bring about the severance of
their connection, and found it very difficult to account for their
continued freshness. But he soon had a key to the mystery. One night,
waking up, he no longer found Musette beside him. He rose, hastened into
the next room, and perceived his mistress, who profited nightly by his
slumbers to water the flowers and hinder them from perishing.

CHAPTER VII

THE BILLOWS OF PACTOLUS

It was the nineteenth of March, 184--. Should Rodolphe reach the age of
Methuselah, he will never forget the date; for it was on that day, at
three in the afternoon, that our friend issued from a banker's where he
had just received five hundred francs in current and sounding specie.

The first use Rodolphe made of this slice of Peru which had fallen into
his pocket was not to pay his debts, inasmuch as he had sworn to himself
to practice economy and go to no extra expense. He had a fixed idea on
this subject, and declared that before thinking of superfluities, one
ought to provide for necessaries. Therefore it was that he paid none of
his creditors, and bought a Turkish pipe which he had long coveted.

Armed with this purchase, he directed his steps towards the lodging of
his friend Marcel, who had for some time given him shelter. As he
entered Marcel's studio, Rodolphe's pockets rang like a village-steeple
on a grand holiday. On hearing this unusual sound, Marcel supposed it
was one of his neighbors, a great speculator, counting his profits on
'Change, and muttered, "There's that impertinent fellow next door
beginning his music again! If this is to go on, I shall give notice to
the landlord. It's impossible to work with such a noise. It tempts one
to quit one's condition of poor artist and turn robb