"Yes," exclaimed Rodolphe, "and this is Christmas Eve! We are good Christians, and ought to have something extra." "Yes, indeed," added Marcel, "let's call for something supernatural." "Colline," continued Rodolphe, "ring a little for the waiter." Colline rang like one possessed. "What shall we have?" asked Marcel. Colline made a low bow and pointed to the women. "It is the business of these ladies to regulate the nature and order of our refreshment." "I," said Musette, smacking her lips, "should not be afraid of Champagne." "Are you crazy?" exclaimed Marcel. "Champagne! That isn't wine to begin with." "So much the worse; I like it, it makes a noise." "I," said Mimi, with a coaxing look at Rodolphe, "would like some Beaune, in a little basket." "Have you lost your senses?" said Rodolphe. "No, but I want to lose them," replied Mimi. The poet was thunderstruck. "I," said Phemie, dancing herself on the elastic sofa, "would rather have parfait amour; it's good for the stomach." Schaunard articulated, in a nasal tone, some words which made Phemie tremble on her spring foundation. "Bah!" said Marcel, recovering himself the first. "Let us spend a hundred francs for this once!" "Yes," said Rodolphe, "they complain of our not being good customers. Let's astonish them!" "Ay," said Colline, "let us give ourselves up to the delights of a splendid banquet! Do we not owe passive obedience to these ladies? Love lies on devotion; wine is the essence of pleasure, pleasure the duty of youth; women are flowers and must be moistened. Moisten away! Waiter, waiter!" and Colline hung upon the bell rope with feverish excitement. Swift as the wind, the waiter came. When he heard talk of Champagne, Burgundy, and various liqueurs, his physiognomy ran through a whole gamut of astonishment. But there was more to come. "I have a hole in my inside," said Mimi. "I should like some ham." "And I some sardines, and bread and butter," struck in Musette. "And I, radishes," quoth Phemie, "and a little meat with them." "We should have no objection," answered they. "Waiter!" quoth Colline, gravely, "bring us all that is requisite for a good supper." The waiter turned all the colors of the rainbow. He descended slowly to the bar, and informed his master of the extraordinary orders he had received. The landlord took it for a joke; but on a new summons from the bell, he ascended himself and addressed Colline, for whom he had a certain respect. Colline explained to him that they wished to see Christmas in at his house, and that he would oblige them by serving what they had asked for. Momus made no answer, but backed out, twisting his napkin. For a quarter of an hour he held a consultation with his wife, who, thanks to her liberal education at the St. Denis Convent, fortunately had a weakness for arts and letters, and advised him to serve the supper. "To be sure," said the landlord, "they may have money for once, by chance."