But, extraordinary as it appears, Lajeunie proved to be as impecunious as the rest there; and he was so much distressed that Julien, deeply moved, said:
"Come back to supper, Lajeunie, we will drink toasts to the Muses!" And now there were four guests invited to the impracticable supper, and when the Children were left alone they clapped their hands at the prospect.
"How merry we shall be!" Julien exclaimed; "and awhile ago we talked of passing the night in the Bois! It only shows you that one can never tell what an hour may bring forth."
"Yes, yes," assented Juliette blithely. "And as for the supper—"
"We shall not require it till nine o'clock at the earliest."
"And now it is no more than midday. Why, there is an eternity for things to arrange themselves!"
"Just so. The sky may rain truffles in such an interval," said the painter. And they drew their chairs closer to the fire, and pretended to each other that they were not hungry.
The hours crept past, and the sunshine waned, and snow began to flutter over Paris. But no truffles fell. By degrees the fire burnt low, and died. To beg for more fuel was impossible, and Juliette shivered a little.
"You are cold, sweetheart," sighed Julien. "I will fetch a blanket from the bed and wrap you in it."
"No," she murmured, "wrap me in your arms—it will be better."