Page:The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter.djvu/230

your loving her. But follow my advice—to the fire with the ribbons, the pretty pink, blue, and yellow ribbons which she wore round her neck to attract the eye; to the fire with the lace, the caps, the veils and all the coquettish trifles with which she bedecked herself to go love-making with Monsieur César, Monsieur Jérome, Monsieur Charles, or any other gallant in the calendar, whilst you were awaiting her at your window, shivering from the wintry blast. To the fire, Rodolphe, and without pity, with all that belonged to her and could still speak to you of her; to the fire with the love letters. Ah! here is one of them, and your tears have bedewed it like a fountain. Oh! my unhappy friend!

“As you have not come in, I am going out to call on my aunt. I have taken what money there was for a cab.

That evening, oh! Rodolphe, you had, do you not recollect, to go without your dinner, and you called on me and let off a volley of jests which fully attested your tranquillity of mind. For you believed Lucile was at her aunt’s, and if I had told you that she was with Monsieur César or with an actor of the Montparnasse Theatre, you would have cut my throat! To the fire, too, with this other note, which has all the laconic affection of the first.

“I am going out to order some boots; you must find the money for me to go and fetch them to-morrow.”

Ah! my friend, those boots have danced many quadrilles in which you did not figure as a partner. To the flames with all these remembrances, and to the winds with their ashes.

But in the first place, oh, Rodolphe! for the love of humanity and the reputation of “The Scarf of Iris” and “The Beaver,” resume the reins of good taste that you have egotistically dropped during your sufferings, or else horrible things may happen for which you will be responsible.