He tapped Claude on the shoulders, for he had divined his old master’s secret contempt, and wished to win him back by his old-time caresses —­all the wheedling practices of a hussy.  Very sincerely and with a sort of anxious deference he again promised Claude that he would do everything in his power to further the hanging of his picture, ’The Dead Child.’

However, some people arrived; more than fifteen persons came in and went off in less than an hour—­fathers bringing young pupils, exhibitors anxious to say a good word on their own behalf, friends who wanted to barter influence, even women who placed their talents under the protection of their charms.  And one should have seen the painter play his part as a candidate, shaking hands most lavishly, saying to one visitor:  ’Your picture this year is so pretty, it pleases me so much!’ then feigning astonishment with another:  ’What! you haven’t had a medal yet?’ and repeating to all of them:  ’Ah!  If I belonged to the committee, I’d make them walk straight.’  He sent every one away delighted, closed the door behind each visitor with an air of extreme amiability, through which, however, there pierced the secret sneer of an ex-lounger on the pavement.

‘You see, eh?’ he said to Claude, at a moment when they happened to be left alone.  ‘What a lot of time I lose with those idiots!’

Then he approached the large window, and abruptly opened one of the casements; and on one of the balconies of the house over the way a woman clad in a lace dressing-gown could be distinguished waving her handkerchief.  Fagerolles on his side waved his hand three times in succession.  Then both windows were closed again.

Claude had recognised Irma; and amid the silence which fell Fagerolles quietly explained matters: 

’It’s convenient, you see, one can correspond.  We have a complete system of telegraphy.  She wants to speak to me, so I must go—­’

Since he and Irma had resided in the avenue, they met, it was said, on their old footing.  It was even asserted that he, so ‘cute,’ so well-acquainted with Parisian humbug, let himself be fleeced by her, bled at every moment of some good round sum, which she sent her maid to ask for—­now to pay a tradesman, now to satisfy a whim, often for nothing at all, or rather for the sole pleasure of emptying his pockets; and this partly explained his embarrassed circumstances, his indebtedness, which ever increased despite the continuous rise in the quotations of his canvases.

Claude had put on his hat again.  Fagerolles was shuffling about impatiently, looking nervously at the house over the way.

‘I don’t send you off, but you see she’s waiting for me,’ he said, ’Well, it’s understood, your affair’s settled—­that is, unless I’m not elected.  Come to the Palais de l’Industrie on the evening the voting-papers are counted.  Oh! there will be a regular crush, quite a rumpus!  Still, you will always learn if you can rely on me.’