Page:The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter.djvu/112

“If Marcel is at home,” said he to himself, “we will pass the evening in abusing Colline. One must do something.”

As he rapped vigorously, the door was partly opened, and a young man, simply clad in a shirt and an eye-glass, presented himself.

“I cannot receive you,” said he to Rodolphe.

“Why not? ” asked the latter.

“There,” said Marcel, pointing to a feminine head that had just peeped out from behind a curtain, “there is my answer.”

“It is not a pretty one,” said Rodolphe, who had just had the door closed in his face. “Ah!” said he to himself when he got into the street, “what shall I do? Suppose I call on Colline, we could pass the time in abusing Marcel.”

Passing along the Rue de l’Ouest, usually dark and unfrequented, Rodolphe made out a shade walking up and down in melancholy fashion, and muttering in rhyme.

“Ho, ho!” said Rodolphe, “who is this animated sonnet loitering here? What, Colline!”

“What, Rodolphe! Where are you going?”

“To your place.”

“You won’t find me there.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting.”

“What are you waiting for?”

“Ah!” said Colline in a tone of raillery, “what can one be waiting for when one is twenty, when there are stars in the sky and songs in the air?”

“Speak in prose.”

“I am waiting for a girl.”

“Good-night,” said Rodolphe, who went on his way continuing his monologue. “What,” said he, “is it St. Cupid’s Day, and cannot I take a step without running up against