Page:The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter.djvu/361
“Come,” said Rodolphe to his friend, “I see very plainly the curiosity of your mind peeping out through the window of your eyes; and I am going to satisfy it, only let us quit the public thoroughfare. It is cold enough here to freeze your questions and my answers.”
And they both went into a café.
Colline’s eyes remained riveted on the rope ladder as well as the cage, in which the bird, thawed by the atmosphere of the café, began to sing in a language unknown to Colline, who was, however, a polyglot.
“Well, then,” said the philosopher, pointing to the rope ladder, “what is that?”
“A connecting link between my love and me,” replied Rodolphe, in lute-like accents.
“And that? ” said Colline, pointing to the bird.
“That,” said the poet, whose voice grew soft as the summer breeze, “is a clock.”
“Tell me without parables—in vile prose, but truly.”
“Very well. Have you read Shakespeare?”
“Have I read him? ‘To be or not to be?’ He was a great philosopher. Yes, I have read him.”
“Do you remember Romeo and Juliet?”
“Do I remember?” said Colline, and he began to recite:
It was the nightingale and not the lark.”
I should rather think I did remember. But what then?”
“What!” said Rodolphe, pointing to the ladder and the bird. “You do not understand! This is the story: I am in love, my dear fellow, in love with a girl named Juliet.”
“Well, what then?” said Colline, impatiently.
“This. My new idol being named Juliet, I have hit on a plan. It is to go through Shakespeare’s play with her. In the first place, my name is no longer Rodolphe, but