wildflowers.

"Poor Musette, she was very pretty though, and she loved me dearly, is
it not so, little bouquet? Her heart told you so the day she wore you at
her waist. Poor little bouquet, you seem to be pleading for mercy; well,
yes; but on one condition; it is that you will never speak to me of her
any more, never, never!"

And profiting by a moment when he thought himself unnoticed by Rodolphe,
he slipped the bouquet into his breast pocket.

"So much the worse, it is stronger than I am. I am cheating," thought
the painter.

And as he cast a furtive glance towards Rodolphe, he saw the poet, who
had come to the end of his auto-da-fe, putting quietly into his own
pocket, after having tenderly kissed it, a little night cap that had
belonged to Mimi.

"Come," muttered Marcel, "he is as great a coward as I am."

At the very moment that Rodolphe was about to return to his room to go
to bed, there were two little taps at Marcel's door.

"Who the deuce can it be at this time of night?" said the painter, going
to open it.

A cry of astonishment burst from him when he had done so.

It was Mimi.

As the room was very dark Rodolphe did not at first recognize his
mistress, and only distinguishing a woman, he thought that it was some
passing conquest of his friend's, and out of discretion prepared to
withdraw.

"I am disturbing you," said Mimi, who had remained on the threshold.

At her voice Rodolphe dropped on his chair as though thunderstruck.

"Good evening," said Mimi, coming up to him and shaking him by the hand
which he allowed her to take mechanically.

"What the deuce brings you here and at this time of night?" asked
Marcel.

"I was very cold," said Mimi shivering. "I saw a light in your room as
I was passing along the street, and although it was very late I came
up."

She was still shivering, her voice had a cristalline sonority that
pierced Rodolphe's heart like a funeral knell, and filled it with a
mournful alarm. He looked at her more attentively. It was no longer
Mimi, but her ghost.

Marcel made her sit down beside the fire.

Mimi smiled at the sight of the flame dancing merrily on the hearth.

"It is very nice," said she, holding out her poor hands blue with cold.
"By the way, Monsieur Marcel, you do not know why I have called on you?"

"No, indeed."

"Well," said Mimi, "I simply came to ask you whether you could get them
to let me a room here. I have just been turned out of my lodgings