"This is mere comedy," replied Rodolphe, in a tone in which severity was mingled with indulgence.
Suddenly Marcel, who had gone on rummaging in every corner of the studio, uttered a loud cry of triumph.
"We are saved!" he exclaimed. "I was sure that there was money here. Behold!" and he showed Rodolphe a coin as large as a crown piece, and half eaten away by rust and verdigris.
It was a Carlovingian coin of some artistic value. The legend, happily intact, showed the date of Charlemagne's reign.
"That, that's worth thirty sous," said Rodolphe, with a contemptuous glance at his friend's find.
"Thirty sous well employed will go a great way," replied Marcel. "With twelve hundred men Bonaparte made ten thousand Austrians lay down their arms. Skill can replace numbers. I will go and swap the Carlovingian crown at Daddy Medicis'. Is there not anything else saleable here? Suppose I take the plaster cast of the tibia of Jaconowski, the Russian drum major."
"Take the tibia. But it is a nuisance, there will not be a single ornament left here."
During Marcel's absence, Rodolphe, his mind made up that that party should be given in any case, went in search of his friend Colline, the hyperphysical philosopher, who lived hard by.
"I have come," said he, "to ask you to do me a favor. As host I must positively have a black swallow-tail, and I have not got one; lend me yours."
"But," said Colline hesitating, "as a guest I shall want my black swallow-tail too."