prominence when he returns and finds himself locked out."

"But, my dear monsieur Tricotrin, in such an extremity you should have
sought the services of a friend."

"I had that inspiration myself; I sought a painter called Goujaud. And
observe how careless is Reality in the matter of coincidences! I learnt
from his concierge that precisely the same thing had befallen monsieur
Goujaud. He, too, is Christmassing alfresco."

"Mon Dieu," faltered the clerk, "how it rejoices me that I have met
you! All my life I have looked forward to encountering a genius in such
a fix."

"Alas!" sighed Tricotrin, with a pensive smile, "to the genius the fix
is less spicy. Without a supper--"

"Without a supper!" crowed Petitpas.

"Without a bed--"

"Without a bed!" babbled Petitpas, enravished.

"With nothing but a pen and the sacred fire, one may be forgiven
sadness."

"Not so, not so," shouted Petitpas, smacking him on the back. "You are
omitting _me_ from your list of assets! Listen, I am staying at an
hotel. You cannot decline to accord me the honour of welcoming you
there as my guest for the night. Hang the expense! I am no longer in