Someone knocked at the door.
"It's my porter," said Barbemuche, half opening the door.
It was indeed the porter with a letter. "What an unlucky chance!" cried Carolus, after he had perused it. "We must put off our reading until some other time. I have to go out immediately. If you please, we will execute this little commission together, as it is nothing private, and then we can come back to dinner."
"There," thought Rodolphe, "is a letter that has fallen from heaven. I recognize the seal of Providence."
When he rejoined the comrades that night, the poet was interrogated by Marcel and Schaunard.
"Did he treat you well?" they asked.
"Yes, but I paid dear for it."
"How? Did Carolus make you pay?" demanded Schaunard with rising choler.
"He read a novel at me, inside of which the people are named Don Lopez and Don Alvar; and the tenors call their mistresses 'angel,' or 'demon.'"
"How shocking!" cried the Bohemians, in chorus.