"Give him a dig in the ribs and say, 'You silly ass, _I_ can fix
you up all right!' That's the way we issue invitations in Montmartre."

The clerk's countenance was livid; his tongue stuck to his front teeth.
At last, wrenching the words out, he groaned, "If monsieur Goujaud will
accept my hospitality, I shall be charmed!" He was not without a hope
that his frigid bearing would beget a refusal.

"Ah, my dear old chap!" shouted Goujaud without an instant's
hesitation, "consider it done!" And now there were to be three suppers,
three beds, and three little breakfasts, distorting the account!

Petitpas sipped his bock faintly, affecting not to notice that his
guests' glasses had been emptied. With all his soul he repented the
impulse that had led to his predicament. Amid the throes of his mental
arithmetic he recognised that he had been deceived in himself, that he
had no abiding passion for bohemia. How much more pleasing than to
board and lodge this disreputable collection would have been the daily
round of amusements that he had planned! Even now--he caught his
breath--even now it was not too late; he might pay for the drinks and
escape! Why shouldn't he run away?

"Gentlemen," cried Petitpas, "I shall go and fetch a cab for us all.
Make yourselves comfortable till I come back!"

When the cafe closed, messieurs Tricotrin, Goujaud, and Pitou crept
forlornly across the square and disposed themselves for slumber on the
bench.

"Well, there is this to be said," yawned the poet, "if the little