(SCHAUNARD, seeing that no one is paying any attention to him, seizes
COLLINE as he passes with a plate.)

COL. Who?

SCH. (pettishly) The devil fly away with you entirely!

(seeing the rest in the act of eating the cold pastry)

What are you doing?

(With solemn gesture, extending his hand over the pastry)

No! dainties of this kind
Are but the stored-up fodder
Saved for the morrow,
Fraught with gloom and sorrow, (clearing the table)
To dine at home on the day of Christmas vigil,
While the Quartier Latin embellishes
Its ways with dainty food and tempting relishes.
Meanwhile the smell of savory fritters
The old street fills with fragrant odor.
There singing joyously, merry maidens hover,
Having for echo each a student lover.

(RUDOLPH locks the door; then all go to the table and pour out wine.)

RUD., MAR. and COL. 'Tis the gladsome Christmas Eve.