"Love is a pleasant feeling."
Finally, he made Schaunard his confidant, and related to him how he had "Put into mahogany" a damsel named Euphemia. Of this young person and her loving simplicity he drew so detailed a portrait, that Schaunard began to be assailed by a fearful suspicion, which suspicion was reduced to a certainty when the landlord showed him a letter.
"Cruel woman!" cried the musician, as he beheld the signature. "It is like a dagger in my heart."
"What is the matter!" exclaimed the Bohemians, astonished at this language.
"See," said Schaunard, "this letter is from Phemie. See the blot that serves her for a signature."
And he handed round the letter of his ex-mistress, which began with the words, "My dear old pet."
"I am her dear old pet," said the landlord, vainly trying to rise from his chair.
"Good," said Marcel, who was watching him. "He has cast anchor."
"Phemie, cruel Phemie," murmured Schaunard. "You have wounded me deeply."
"I have furnished a little apartment for her at 12, Rue Coquenard," said the landlord. "Pretty, very pretty. It cost me lots of money. But such love is beyond price and I have twenty thousand francs a year. She asks me for money in her letter. Poor little dear, she shall have this," and he stretched out his hand for the money—"hallo! Where is it?" he added in astonishment feeling on the table. The money had disappeared.