Over the tavern, as its sign-board, hangs MARCEL's picture, "The Passage of the Red Sea," while underneath, in large letters, is the inscription. "At the Port of Marseilles." On either side of the door are frescoes of a Turk and a Zouave with a huge laurel-wreath round his fez. From the ground-floor windows of the tavern, which faces the toll-gate, light gleams. The plane-trees, grey and gaunt, which flank the toll-gate square, lead diagonally towards the two boulevards. Between each tree is a marble bench. It is towards the close of February; snow covers all. As the curtain rises, the scene is merged in the dim light of early dawn. In front of a brazier are seated, in a group, snoring custom-house officers. From the tavern at intervals one may hear laughter, shouts, and the clink of glasses. A custom-house official comes out of the tavern with wine. The toll-gate is closed. Behind the toll-gate, stamping their feet and blowing in their frost-bitten fingers, stand several street-scavengers._ SCAVENGERS. What ho, there! What ho, there! Admit us! Make haste and let us pass, The sweepers are we. (_stamping their feet_) Look how it's snowing! What ho, there! We are frozen! AN OFFICIAL. (_yawning and stretching himself_) All right! (_Goes to open the gate; the scavengers pass through to the Rue d'Enfer. The official closes the gate again._) CHORUS. (_from the tavern; the clink of glasses forms an accompaniment to the song_) Pass the glass, Let each toast his lass; Pass the glass, Let each lad toast his lass; Ha! Ha! Each one as he sips, As he sips his wine, Shall dream of lips Made for love divine! MUS. (_from the tavern_) Ah! As the toper loves his glass, So the gallant loves his lass. CHORUS. (_all bursting into laughter_) Noah and Eve! MILK WOMEN. (_from within_) Houp-la! Houp-la! (_A sergeant comes out of the guard-house and orders the toll-gate to be opened._) CUSTOM HOUSE OFFICIAL. Here come the women with their milk. (_A tinkling of cart-bells is heard._) CARTERS. (_from within_) Houp-la! (_Carts pass along the outer boulevard, lighted by large lanterns._) MILK WOMEN. (_quite close_) Houp-la! (_The gloom gradually gives way to daylight._) MILK WOMEN. (_to the officials who admit them to the toll-gate_) Good-morrow! PEASANT WOMEN. (_who enter carrying baskets_) Butter! Cheese! Chickens and eggs! SOME. Which way, then, are you going? OTHERS. Up to Saint Michael's. SOME. Well, shall we see you later? OTHERS. At twelve o'clock. (_They go off in various directions, and the officials remove the bench and brazier._) (_Enter _MIMI_ from the Rue d'Enfer; she looks about her as if anxious to make sure of her whereabouts. On reaching the first plane-tree she is seized by a violent fit of coughing. Then recovering herself, she sees the sergeant, whom she approaches._) MIMI. Oh! Please, sir, tell me the name of that tavern Where now a painter's working? SERGEANT. (_pointing to the tavern_) There it is.