Page:The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter.djvu/116

“Good heavens,” said the young girl when Rodolphe had taken his place by her side, “how funny your friend is, his voice is like a trumpet.”

“That is because he is a musician.”

Two hours later Rodolphe and his companion halted in front of a house in the Rue St. Denis.

“It is here that I live,” said the girl.

“Well, my dear Louise, when and where shall I see you again?”

“At your place at eight o’clock to-morrow evening.”

“For sure?”

“Here is my pledge,” replied Louise, holding up her rosy cheek to Rodolphe’s, who eagerly tasted this ripe fruit of youth and health.

Rodolphe went home perfectly intoxicated.

“Ah!” said he, striding up and down his room, “ it can’t go off like that, I must write some verses.”

The next morning his porter found in his room some thirty sheets of paper, at the top of which stretched in solitary majesty the line

That morning, contrary to his habits, Rodolphe had awaked very early, and although he had slept very little, he got up at once.

“Ah!” he exclaimed; “to-day is the great day. But then twelve hours tc wait. How shall I fill up these twelve eternities?

And as his glance fell on his desk he seemed to see his pen wriggle as though intending to say to him “Work.”

“Ah! yes, work indeed! A fig for prose. I won’t stop here, it reeks of ink.”

He went off and settled himself in a café where he was sure not to meet any friends.