"I am in the same position," said the other, "but to oblige you, I will
go without today, though I had an invitation in the Faubourg St.
Germain. But we can't break off now, it might spoil the resemblance."
And he painted away harder than ever. "By the way," said he, suddenly,
"we can dine without breaking off. There is a capital restaurant
downstairs, which will send us up anything we like." And Schaunard
awaited the effect of his trial of plurals.

"I accept your idea," said Blancheron, "an in return, I hope you will do
me the honor of keeping me company at table."

Schaunard bowed. "Really," said he to himself, "this is a fine fellow--a
very god-send. Will you order the dinner?" he asked his Amphitryon.

"You will oblige me by taking that trouble," replied the other,
politely.

"So much the worse for you, my boy," said the painter as he pitched down
the stairs, four steps at a time. Marching up to the counter, he wrote
out a bill of fare that made the Vatel of the establishment turn pale.

"Claret! Who's to pay for it?"

"Probably not I," said Schaunard, "but an uncle of mine that you will
find up there, a very good judge. So, do your best, and let us have
dinner in half an hour, served on your porcelain."

At eight o'clock, Monsieur Blancheron felt the necessity of pouring into
a friend's ear his idea on the sugar question, and accordingly recited
his pamphlet to Schaunard, who accompanied him on the piano.