"In point of fact," though Rodolphe, "there are times when porters grow human again."
Passing through the door he found in its recess a sapper and a cook exchanging the luck-penny of love.
"Hang it," said Rodolphe, alluding to the warrior and his robust companion, "here are heretics who scarcely think that we are in Lent."
And he set out for the abode of one of his friends who lived in the neighborhood.
"If Marcel is at home," he said to himself, "we will pass the evening in abusing Colline. One must do something."
As he rapped vigorously, the door was partly opened, and a young man, simply clad in a shirt and an eye-glass, presented himself.
"I cannot receive you," said he to Rodolphe.
"Why not?" asked the latter.
"There," said Marcel, pointing to a feminine head that had just peeped out from behind a curtain, "there is my answer."
"It is not a pretty one," said Rodolphe, who had just had the door closed in his face. "Ah!" said he to himself when he got into the street, "what shall I do? Suppose I call on Colline, we could pass the time in abusing Marcel."