At first, Claude inwardly swore that he would not trouble about it.  Fagerolles’ protection weighed heavily upon him; and yet, in his heart of hearts, he really had but one fear, that the shifty fellow would not keep his promise, but would ultimately be taken with a fit of cowardice at the idea of protecting a defeated man.  However, on the day of the vote Claude could not keep still, but went and roamed about the Champs Elysees under the pretence of taking a long walk.  He might as well go there as elsewhere, for while waiting for the Salon he had altogether ceased work.  He himself could not vote, as to do so it was necessary to have been ‘hung’ on at least one occasion.  However, he repeatedly passed before the Palais de l’Industrie,* the foot pavement in front of which interested him with its bustling aspect, its procession of artist electors, whom men in dirty blouses caught hold of, shouting to them the titles of their lists of candidates—­lists some thirty in number emanating from every possible coterie, and representing every possible opinion.  There was the list of the studios of the School of Arts, the liberal list, the list of the uncompromising radical painters, the conciliatory list, the young painters’ list, even the ladies’ list, and so forth.  The scene suggested all the turmoil at the door of an electoral polling booth on the morrow of a riot.

  * This palace, for many years the home of the ‘Salon,’ was built
    for the first Paris International Exhibition, that of 1855,
    and demolished in connection with that of 1900.—­ED.

At four o’clock in the afternoon, when the voting was over, Claude could not resist a fit of curiosity to go and have a look.  The staircase was now free, and whoever chose could enter.  Upstairs, he came upon the huge gallery, overlooking the Champs Elysees, which was set aside for the hanging committee.  A table, forty feet long, filled the centre of this gallery, and entire trees were burning in the monumental fireplace at one end of it.  Some four or five hundred electors, who had remained to see the votes counted, stood there, mingled with friends and inquisitive strangers, talking, laughing, and setting quite a storm loose under the lofty ceiling.  Around the table, parties of people who had volunteered to count the votes were already settled and at work; there were some fifteen of these parties in all, each comprising a chairman and two scrutineers.  Three or four more remained to be organised, and nobody else offered assistance; in fact, every one turned away in fear of the crushing labour which would rivet the more zealous people to the spot far into the night.

It precisely happened that Fagerolles, who had been in the thick of it since the morning, was gesticulating and shouting, trying to make himself heard above the hubbub.

’Come, gentlemen, we need one more man here!  Come, some willing person, over here!’

And at that moment, perceiving Claude, he darted forward and forcibly dragged him off.