‘So you have made an arrangement with Naudet, eh?’ asked Mahoudeau, whose bony cheeks seemed to have grown yet more hollow.  ’Is it true that he guarantees you fifty thousand francs for the first year?’

Fagerolles replied, with affected carelessness, ’Yes, fifty thousand francs.  But nothing is settled; I’m thinking it over.  It is hard to engage oneself like that.  I am not going to do anything precipitately.’

‘The deuce!’ muttered the sculptor; ’you are hard to please.  For twenty francs a day I’d sign whatever you like.’

They all now listened to Fagerolles, who posed as being wearied by his budding success.  He still had the same good-looking, disturbing hussy-like face, but the fashion in which he wore his hair and the cut of his beard lent him an appearance of gravity.  Although he still came at long intervals to Sandoz’s, he was separating from the band; he showed himself on the boulevards, frequented the cafes and newspaper offices—­all the places where a man can advertise himself and make useful acquaintances.  These were tactics of his own, a determination to carve his own victory apart from the others; the smart idea that if he wished to triumph he ought to have nothing more in common with those revolutionists, neither dealer, nor connections, nor habits.  It was even said that he had interested the female element of two or three drawing-rooms in his success, not in Jory’s style, but like a vicious fellow who rises superior to his passions, and is content to adulate superannuated baronesses.

Just then Jory, in view of lending importance to himself, called Fagerolles’ attention to a recently published article; he pretended that he had made Fagerolles just as he pretended that he had made Claude.  ’I say, have you read that article of Vernier’s about yourself?  There’s another fellow who repeats my ideas!’

‘Ah, he does get articles, and no mistake!’ sighed Mahoudeau.

Fagerolles made a careless gesture, but he smiled with secret contempt for all those poor beggars who were so utterly deficient in shrewdness that they clung, like simpletons, to their crude style, when it was so easy to conquer the crowd.  Had it not sufficed for him to break with them, after pillaging them, to make his own fortune?  He benefited by all the hatred that folks had against them; his pictures, of a softened, attenuated style, were held up in praise, so as to deal the death-blow to their ever obstinately violent works.

‘Have you read Vernier’s article?’ asked Jory of Gagniere.  ’Doesn’t he say exactly what I said?’

For the last few moments Gagniere had been absorbed in contemplating his glass, the wine in which cast a ruddy reflection on the white tablecloth.  He started: 

‘Eh, what, Vernier’s article?’

‘Why, yes; in fact, all those articles which appear about Fagerolles.’

Gagniere in amazement turned to the painter.

’What, are they writing articles about you?  I know nothing about them, I haven’t seen them.  Ah! they are writing articles about you, but whatever for?’