s, which
always seemed looking for something, gave his features the character of
happy tranquility which is common among theological students. His face
had a uniform tint of old ivory, except his cheeks, which had a coat, as
it were of brickdust. His mouth seemed to have been sketched by a
student in the rudiments of drawing, whose elbow had been jogged while
he was tracing it. His lips, which pouted almost like a negro's,
disclosed teeth not unlike a stag-hound's and his double-chin reposed
itself upon a white cravat, one of whose points threatened the stars,
while the other was ready to pierce the ground. A torrent of light hair
escaped from under the enormous brim of his well-worn felt-hat. He wore
a hazel-coloured overcoat with a large cape, worn thread-bare and rough
as a grater; from its yawning pockets peeped bundles of manuscripts and
pamphlets. The enjoyment of his sour-crout, which he devoured with
numerous and audible marks of approbation, rendered him heedless of the
scrutiny to which he was subjected, but did not prevent him from
continuing to read an old book open before him, in which he made
marginal notes from time to time with a pencil that he carried behind
his ear.

"Hullo!" cried Schaunard suddenly, making his glass ring with his knife,
"my stew!"

"Sir," said the girl, running up plate in hand, "there is none left,
here is the last, and this gentleman has ordered it." Therewith she
deposited the dish before the man with the books.

"The deuce!" cried Schaunard. There was such an air of melancholy
disappointment in his ejaculation, that the possessor of the books was
moved to the soul by it. He broke down the pile of old works which
formed a barrier between him and Schaunard, and putting the dish in the
centre of the table, said, in his sweetest tones:

"Might I be so bold as to beg you, sir, to share this with me?"

"Sir," replied the artist, "I could not think of depriving you of it."

"Then will you deprive me of the pleasure of being agreeable to you?"

"If you insist, sir," and Schaunard held out his plate.

"Permit me not to give you the head," said the stranger.

"Really sir, I cannot allow you," Schaunard began, but on taking back
his plate he perceived that the other had given him the very piece which
he implied he would keep for himself.

"What is he playing off his politeness on me for?" he muttered to
himself.

"If the head is the most noble part of man," said the stranger, "