ch I
never pass through this street at noon, or any other time of day. To
tell you the truth," added he innocently, "I once lived with Marcel in
this neighborhood."

"Still I should be very glad to offer you a glass of punch, and have a
few minutes' talk with you. Is there no other place in the vicinity
where you could step in without being hindered by any mathematical
difficulties?" asked Barbemuche, who thought it a good opportunity for
saying something very clever.

Colline mused an instant. "There is a little place here," he said,
pointing to a wine shop, "where I stand on a better footing."

Barbemuche made a face, and seemed to hesitate. "Is it a respectable
place?" he demanded.

His cold and reserved attitude, his limited conversation, his discreet
smile, and especially his watch chain with charms on it, all led Colline
to suppose that Barbemuche was a clerk in some embassy, and that he
feared to compromise himself by going into some wine shop.

"There is no danger of anyone seeing us," said he. "All the diplomatic
body is in bed by this time."

Barbemuche made up his mind to go in, though at the bottom of his heart
he would have given a good deal for a false nose. For greater security,
he insisted on having a private room, and took care to fasten a napkin
before the glass door of it. These precautions taken, he appeared more
at ease, and called for a bowl of punch. Excited a little by the
generous beverage, Barbemuche became more communicative, and, after
giving some autobiographical details, made bold to express the hope he
had conceived of being personally admitted a member of the Bohemian
Club, for the accomplishment of which ambitious design he solicited the
aid of Colline.

Colline replied that, for his part, he was entirely at the service of
Barbemuche, but, nevertheless, he could make no positive promise. "I
assure you of my vote," said he. "But I cannot take it upon me to
dispose of those of my comrades."

"But," asked Barbemuche, "for what reasons could they refuse to admit me
among them?"

Colline put down the glass which he was just lifting to his mouth, and,
in a very serious tone, addressed the rash Carolus, saying, "You
cultivate the fine arts?"

"I labor humble in those noble fields of intelligence," replied the
other, who felt bound to hang out the colors of his style.

Colline found the phrase well turned, and bowed in acknowledgment.

"You understand music?" he continued.

"I