"It is Christmas Eve," said he.
"Do you remember last year's?" inquired Rodolphe.
"Yes," replied Marcel. "At Momus's. It was Barbemuche who stood treat. I should never have thought that a delicate girl like Phemie could have held so much sausage."
"What a pity that Momus has cut off our credit," said Rodolphe.
"Alas," said Marcel, "calendars succeed but do not resemble one another."
"Would not you like to keep Christmas Eve?" asked Rodolphe.
"With whom and with what?" inquired the painter.
"With me."
"And the coin?"
"Wait a moment," said Rodolphe, "I will go into the cafe, where I know some people who play high. I will borrow a few sesterces from some favorite of fortune, and I will get something to wash down a sardine or a pig's trotter."