The manager even hinted that Fifi Blondette might be seen
in the leading part. La Coupole, and Blondette! Pitou and Lajeunie
could scarcely credit their ears. To be sure, she was no actress, and
her voice was rather unpleasant, and she would probably want everything
rewritten fifteen times before it satisfied her; but she was a
beautiful woman and all Paris paid to look at her when she graced a
stage; and she had just ruined Prince Czernowitz, which gave her name
an additional value. "Upon my word," gasped Pitou, "our luck seems as
incredible, my dear Lajeunie, as the plot of any of your novels! Come
and have a drink!"
"I feel like Rodolphe at the end of _La Vie de Boheme_," he
confided to Tricotrin in their garret one winter's night, as they went
supper-less to their beds. "Now that the days of privation are past, I
recall them with something like regret. The shock of the laundress's
totals, the meagre dinners at the Bel Avenir, these things have a
fascination now that I part from them. I do not wish to sound
ungrateful, but I cannot help wondering if my millions will impair the
taste of life to me."
"To me they will make it taste much better," said Tricotrin, "for I
shall have somebody to borrow money from, and I shall get enough
blankets. _Brrr_! how cold I am! Besides, you need not lose touch
with Montmartre because you are celebrated--you can invite us all to
your magnificent abode.
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