odolphe, also rising and hurriedly slipping
on his clothes.

Juliet had already lit a fire, and was looking in her sideboard to see
whether she could find anything. Rodolphe helped her in this search.

"Hullo," said he, "onions."

"And some bacon," said Juliet.

"Some butter."

"Bread."

Alas! That was all.

During the search the pigeon, a careless optimist, was singing on its
perch.

Romeo looked at Juliet, Juliet looked at Romeo, and both looked at the
pigeon.

They did not say anything, but the fate of the pigeon-clock was settled.
Even if he had appealed it would have been useless, hunger is such a
cruel counsellor.

Rodolphe had lit some charcoal, and was turning bacon in the spluttering
butter with a solemn air.

Juliet was peeling onions in a melancholy attitude.

The pigeon was still singing, it was the song of the swan.

To these lamentations was joined the spluttering of the butter in the
stew pan.

Five minutes later the butter was still spluttering, but the pigeon sang
no longer.

Romeo and Juliet grilled their clock.

"He had a nice voice," said Juliet sitting down to table.

"He is very tender," said Rodolphe, carving his alarum, nicely browned.

The two lovers looked at one another, and each surprised a tear in the
other's eye.

Hypocrites, it was the onions that made them weep.

CHAPTER XXII

Epilogue To The Loves Of Rodolphe And Mademoiselle Mimi

Shortly after his final rupture with Mademoiselle Mimi, who had left
him, as may be remembered, to ride in the carriage of Vicomte Paul, the
poet Rodolphe had sought to divert his thoughts by taking a new
mistress.

She was the same blonde for whom we have seen him masquerading as Romeo.
But this union, which was on the one part only a matter of spite, and on
the other one of fancy, could not last long. The girl was after all
only a light of love, warbling to perfection the gamut of trickery,
witty enough to note the wit of others and to make use of it on
occasion, and with only enough heart to feel heartburn when she had
eaten too much. Add to this unbridled self-esteem and a ferocious
coquetry, which would have impelled her to prefer a broken leg for her
lover rather than a flounce the less to her dress, or a faded ribbon to
her bonnet. A commonplace creature of doubtful beauty, endowed by nature
with every evil instinct, and yet seductive from certain points of view
and at certain times. She was not long in perceivin