Page:The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter.djvu/321

Whilst his friends were sharpening their appetites by getting ready the feast, Marcel had again isolated himself in a corner and was putting the letter he had just found by chance away with some souvenirs that Musette had left him. All at once he remembered the address of a woman who was the intimate friend of his old love.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, loud enough to be overheard, “I know where to find her.”

“Find what?” said Rodolphe. “What are you up to?” he added, seeing the artist getting ready to write.

“Nothing, only an urgent letter I had forgotten,” replied Marcel; and he wrote:—

“My dear girl,

“I have wealth in my desk, an apoplectic stroke of fortune. We have a big feed simmering, generous wines, and have lit fires like respectable citizens. You should only just see it, as you used to say. Come and pass an hour with us. You will find Rodolphe, Colline and Schaunard. You shall sing to us at dessert, for dessert will not be wanting. Whilst we are there we shall probably remain at table for a week. So do not be afraid of being too late. It is so long since I heard you laugh. Rodolphe will compose madrigals to you, and we will drink all manner of things to our dead and gone loves, with liberty to resuscitate them. Between people like ourselves—the last kiss is never the last. Ah! if it had not been so cold last year you might not have left me. You jilted me for a faggot and because you were afraid of having red hands; you were right. I am no more vexed with you over it this time than over the others, but come and warm yourself whilst there is a fire. With as many kisses as you like,

This letter finished, Marcel wrote another to Madame