Page:The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter.djvu/338

On the hearth smouldered two little brands as big as one’s fist.

Snow was still falling without.

The four Bohemians sat down to table and gravely unfolded their napkins.

“It is strange,” said Marcel, “this herring has a flavor of pheasant.”

“That is due to the way in which I cooked it,” replied Colline; “the herring has never been properly appreciated.”

At that moment a joyous song rose on the staircase, and a knock came at the door. Marcel, who had not been able to help shuddering, ran to open it.

Musette threw her arms round his neck and held him in an embrace for five minutes. Marcel felt her tremble in his arms.

“What is the matter? he asked.

“I am cold,” said Musette, mechanically drawing near the fireplace.

“Ah!” said Marcel, “and we had such a rattling good fire.”

“Yes,” said Musette, glancing at the remains of the five days’ festivity, “I have come too late.”

“Why?” said Marcel.

“Why?” said Musette, blushing slightly.

She sat down on Marcel’s knee. She was still shivering, and her hands were blue.

“You were not free, then,” whispered Marcel.

“I! not free!” exclaimed the girl. “Ah! Marcel, if I were seated amongst the stars in Paradise and you made me a sign to come down to you I should do so. I! not free!”

She began to shiver again.

“There are five chairs here,” said Rodolphe, “which is