king at
the lobster which had began to crawl about the room.

"I remember," said Schaunard, "that yesterday I took a turn in Medicis'
kitchen, I suppose the reptile accidentally fell into my pocket; these
creatures are very short-sighted. Since I have got it," added he, "I
should like to keep it. I will tame it and paint it red, it will look
livelier. I am sad since Phemie's departure; it will be a companion to
me."

"Gentlemen," exclaimed Colline, "notice, I beg of you, that the
weathercock has gone round to the south, we shall breakfast."

"I should think so," said Marcel, taking up a gold piece, "here is
something we will cook with plenty of sauce."

They proceeded to a long and serious discussion on the bill of fare.
Each dish was the subject of an argument and a vote. Omelette souffle,
proposed by Schaunard, was anxiously rejected, as were white wines,
against which Marcel delivered an oration that brought out his
oenophilistic knowledge.

"The first duty of wine is to be red," exclaimed he, "don't talk to me
about your white wines."

"But," said Schaunard, "Champagne--"

"Bah! A fashionable cider! An epileptic licorice-water. I would give all
the cellars of Epernay and Ai for a single Burgundian cask. Besides, we
have neither grisettes to seduce, nor a vaudeville to write. I vote
against Champagne."

The program once agreed upon, Schaunard and Colline went to the
neighboring restaurant to order the repast.

"Suppose we have some fire," said Marcel.

"As a matter of fact," said Rodolphe, "we should not be doing wrong, the
thermometer has been inviting us to it for some time past. Let us have
some fire and astonish the fireplace."

He ran out on the landing and called to Colline to have some wood sent
in. A few minutes later Schaunard and Colline came up again, followed by
a charcoal dealer bearing a heavy bundle of firewood.

As Marcel was looking in a drawer for some spare paper to light the
fire, he came by chance across a letter, the handwriting of which made
him start, and which he began to read unseen by his friends.

It was a letter in pencil, written by Musette when she was living with
Marcel and dated day for day a year ago. It only contained these
words:--

"My dear love,

Do not be uneasy about me, I shall be in shortly. I have gone out
to warm myself a bit by walking, it is freezing indoors and the
wood seller has cut off credit. I broke up the last two rungs of