The landlord's eyes began to twinkle strangely. He wriggled on his chair, began to talk loosely, in all senses of the word, and promised Marcel fabulous repairs and embellishments. "Bring up the big guns," said the artist aside to the poet. Rodolphe passed along a bottle of rum. After the first glass the landlord sang a ditty, which absolutely made Schaunard blush. After the second, he lamented his conjugal infelicity. His wife's name being Helen, he compared himself to Menelaus. After the third, he had an attack of philosophy, and threw up such aphorisms as these: "Life is a river." "Happiness depends not on wealth." "Man is a transitory creature." "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. "It is impossible for a moral man to become an accomplice in such wickedness," said Marcel. "My conscience forbids me to pay money to this old profligate. I shall not pay my rent, but my conscience will at any rate be clear. What morals, and in a bald headed man too." By this time the landlord was completely gone, and talked at random to the bottles. He had been there nearly two hours, when his wife, alarmed at his prolonged absence, sent the maid after him. On seeing her master in such a state, she set up a shriek, and asked, "what are they doing to him?" "Nothing," answered Marcel. "He came a few minutes ago to ask for the rent. As we had no money we begged for time." "But he's been and got drunk," said the servant. "Very likely," replied Rodolphe. "Most of that was done before he came here. He told us that he had been arranging his cellar."