Page:The Bohemians of the Latin Quarter.djvu/383

cessions proceeding homewards, to do honor to Momus, Bacchus, Comus, and all the other divinities with names ending in “us,” they asked themselves who was the Gamacho whose wedding was being celebrated with such a profusion of victuals.

Marcel was the first who recollected the date and its festival.

“It is Christmas Eve,” said he.

“Do you remember last year’s?” inquired Rodolphe.

“Yes,” replied Marcel; “at Momus’s. It was Barbemuche who stood treat. I should never have thought that a delicate girl like Phémie could have held so much sausage.”

“What a pity that Momus has cut off our credit,” said Rodolphe.

“Alas,” said Marcel; “calendars succeed but do not resemble one another.”

“Would not you like to keep Christmas Eve?” asked Rodolphe.

“With whom and with what?” inquired the painter.

“With me.”

“And the coin?”

“Wait a moment,” said Rodolphe; “I will go into this café, where I know some people who play high. I will borrow a few sesterces from some favorite of fortune, and I will get something to wash down a sardine or a pig’s trotter.”

“Go,” said Marcel; “I am as hungry as a dog. I will wait for you here.”

Rodolphe went into the café where he knew several people. A gentleman who had just won three hundred francs at cards, made a regular treat of lending the poet a forty sous piece, which he handed over with that ill-humor caused by the fever of play. At another time and else-