their hats,
nodded to Mueller, and went out.

"There go two of the brightest fellows and most improvident scamps in
the whole Quartier," said my companion. "They are both studying for the
bar; both under age; both younger sons of good families; and both
destined, if I am not much mistaken, to rise to eminence by-and-by.
Horace writes for _Figaro_ and the _Petit Journal pour Rire_--Theophile
does _feuilleton_ work--romances, chit-chat, and political
squibs--rubbish, of course; but clever rubbish, and wonderful when one
considers what boys they both are, and what dissipated lives they lead.
The amount of impecuniosity those fellows get through in the course of a
term is something inconceivable. They have often only one decent suit
between them--and sometimes not that. To-day, you see, they are at their
wits' end for a breakfast. They have run their credit dry at Procope and
everywhere else, and are gone now to a miserable little den in the Rue
du Paon, kept by a fat good-natured old soul called _la mere_
Gaudissart. She will perhaps take compassion on their youth and
inexperience, and let them have six sous worth of horsebeef soup, stale
bread, and the day before yesterday's vegetables. Nay, don't look so
pitiful! We poor devils of the Student Quartier hug our Bohemian life,
and exalt it above every other. When we have money, we cannot find
windows enough out of which to fling it--when we have none, we start
upon _la chasse au diner_, and enjoy the pleasures of the chase. We
revel in the extremes of fasting and feasting, and scarcely know which
we prefer."

"I think your friends Horace and Theophile are tolerably clear as to
which _they_ prefer," I remarked, with a smile.

"Bah! they would die of _ennui_ if they had always enough to eat! Think
how it sharpens a man's wits if--given the time, the place, and the
appetite--he has every day to find the credit for his dinners! Show me a
mathematical problem to compare with it as a popular educator of youth!"

"But for young men of genius, like Horace and Theophile..."

"Make yourself quite easy, _mon cher_. A little privation will do them
no kind of harm. They belong to that class of whom it has been said that
'they would borrow money from Harpagon, and find truffles on the raft of
the Medusa.' But hold! we are at the end of our breakfast. What say you?
Shall we take our _demi-tasse_ in the next room, among our
fellow-students of physic and the fine arts?"

CHAPTER