“Then,” said Fontaine, ruefully, who would willingly have given his only pair of shoes to Marsac would he accept them, “I don’t know what I am to do. The shoemaker said three francs or no shoes, and I have only two francs five centimes. You have already spent enough on them to have bought a new pair,--new vamps in December, new uppers in January, and now in February new soles.” “Go along with you!” cried Marsac. “Tell the shoemaker I have a bad case of confluent small-pox, and I dare say he will be glad to let you have the shoes for nothing. But give me that paste-pot. Our friends Madame Schmid and Monsieur Landais have left us souvenirs which I can put to use.” And he began deftly cutting the bills, which were on stout paper, into square pieces to mend the screen with, which, like everything else in the room, had holes in it. “I am afraid the small-pox story won’t be a--judicious subterfuge,” was Fontaine’s reply. “What did you do with the eleven francs we had yesterday?” “I bought four bottles of wine, a box of cigars, and two loaves of bread with it.” “Why were you so extravagant about bread?” asked Marsac, very cheerfully working away at the old screen. “If you squander our substance on luxuries like bread, we sha’n’t have anything left for necessaries like wine and cigars. The fact is,” he continued, “when a man enters journalism, he ought to have an education suitable to the profession. Instead of going to the University, I should have been taught the shoemaking and tailoring trades. How often have I heard that no learning comes amiss in journalism! Now, if I had the most rudimentary knowledge of cobbling, I could have mended those shoes myself.” “At all events,” said Fontaine, brushing his hat, “I am rather glad to be out of the way now; for this is the very day and hour that Madame Fleury always appears to ask for the rent.” “There!” cried Marsac, for the first time showing impatience, “I have been trying for two weeks to forget what day the rent is due, and had just succeeded when you reminded me of it. I would rather see Joan of Arc coming at me full tilt on horseback, or Charlotte Corday with her dagger, than Madame Fleury with her bill.” “I have heard it said that it is possible to live comfortably on a large capital of debts, but we have not found it so,” said Fontaine, still brushing his hat, which, however, not all the brushing in the world could benefit.