a shawl or a bonnet--for the
sake of things and not men. That calm, that tranquillity which he had
hoped for on separating from his mistress, had he found them again
after her departure? Alas, no! There was only herself the less in the
house. Of old his grief could find vent, he could break into abuse, or
representations--he could show all he suffered and excite the pity of
her who caused his sufferings. But now his grief was solitary, his
jealousy had become madness, for formerly he could at any rate, when he
suspected anything, hinder Mimi from going out, keep her beside him in
his possession, and now he might meet her in the street on the arm of
her new lover, and must turn aside to let her pass, happy no doubt, and
bent upon pleasure.

This wretched life lasted three or four months. By degrees he recovered
his calmness. Marcel, who had undertaken a long journey to drive Musette
out of his mind, returned to Paris, and again came to live with
Rodolphe. They consoled one another.

One Sunday, crossing the Luxembourg Gardens, Rodolphe met Mimi
resplendently dressed. She was going to a public ball. She nodded to
him, to which he responded by a bow. This meeting gave him a great
shock, but his emotion was less painful than usual. He walked about for
a little while in the gardens, and then returned home. When Marcel came
in that evening he found him at work.

"What!" said Marcel, leaning over his shoulder. "You are
working--verses?"

"Yes," replied Rodolphe cheerfully, "I believe that the machine will
still work. During the last four hours I have once more found the go of
bygone time, I have seen Mimi."

"Ah!" said Marcel uneasily. "On what terms are you?"

"Do not be afraid," said Rodolphe, "we only bowed to one another. It
went no further than that."

"Really and truly?" asked Marcel.

"Really and truly. It is all over between us, I feel it; but if I can
get to work again I forgive her."

"If it is so completely finished," said Marcel, who had read through
Rodolphe's verses, "why do you write verses about her?"

"Alas!" replied the poet, "I take my poetry where I can find it."

For a week he worked at this little poem. When he had finished it he
read it to Marcel, who expressed himself satisfied with it, and who
encouraged Rodolphe to utilize in other ways the poetical vein that had
come back to him.

"For," remarked he, "it was not worth while leaving Mimi if you are
always to live under her shadow. Aft