"The deuce!" exclaimed the philosopher. "This can't last, or the world would come to an end. I arrive," he continued, "as the ambassador of the generous mortal whom we met last night." "Can he be sending already to ask for his money again?" said Marcel. "It has nothing to do with that," replied Colline. "This young man wishes to be one of us; to have stock in our society, and share the profits, of course." The three men raised their heads and looked at one another. "That's all," concluded Colline. "Now the question is open." "What is the social position of your principal?" asked Rodolphe. "He is no principal of mine," answered the other. "Last night he begged me to accompany him, and overflowed me with attentions and good liquor for a while. But I have retained my independence." "Good," said Schaunard. "Sketch us some leading features of his character," said Marcel. "Grandeur of soul, austerity of manners, afraid to go into wine shops, bachelor of arts, candid as a transparency, plays on the bass-viol, is disposed to change a five franc piece occasionally." "Good again!" said Schaunard. "What are his hopes?" "As I told you already, his ambition knows no bounds; he aspires to be 'hail-fellow-well-met' with us." "That is to say," answered Marcel, "he wishes to speculate upon us, and to be seen riding in our carriages." "What is his profession?" asked Rodolphe. "Yes," said Marcel, "what does he play on?" "Literature and mixed philosophy. He calls art a priesthood." "A priesthood!" cried Rodolphe, in terror. "So he says." "And what is his road in literature?" "He goes after 'Telemachus'." "Very good," said Schaunard, eating the seed of his artichoke. "Very good! You dummy!" broke our Marcel. "I advise you not to say that in the street." Schaunard relieved his annoyance at this reproof by kicking Phemie under the table for taking some of his sauce. "Once more," said Rodolphe. "What is his condition in the world? What does he live on, and where does he live? And what is his name?" "His station is honorable. He is professor of everything in a rich family. His name is Carolus Barbemuche. He spends his income in luxurious living and dwells in the Rue Royale." "Furnished lodging?" "No, there is real furniture." "I claim the floor," said Marcel. "To me it is evident that Colline has been corrupted. He has already sold his vote for so many drinks. Don't interrupt me! (Colline was rising to protest.) You shall have your turn. Colline, mercenary soul that he is, has presented to you this stranger under an aspect too favorable to be true. I told you before; I see through this person's designs. He wants to speculate on us. He says to himself, 'Here are some chaps making their way. I must get into their pockets. I shall arrive with them at the goal of fame.'" "Bravo!" quoth Schaunard, "have you any more sauce there?" "No," replied Rodolphe, "the edition is out of print."