Claude, hoarse by now, still went on calling names.  The smoke and the heat became intolerable, a smell like that of a cow-house rose from the muddy litter on the floor.  One o’clock, two o’clock in the morning struck, and he was still unfolding voting-papers, the conscientiousness which he displayed delaying him to such a point that the other parties had long since finished their work, while his was still a maze of figures.  At last all the additions were centralised and the definite result proclaimed.  Fagerolles was elected, coming fifteenth among forty, or five places ahead of Bongrand, who had been a candidate on the same list, but whose name must have been frequently struck out.  And daylight was breaking when Claude reached home in the Rue Tourlaque, feeling both worn out and delighted.

Then, for a couple of weeks he lived in a state of anxiety.  A dozen times he had the idea of going to Fagerolles’ for information, but a feeling of shame restrained him.  Besides, as the committee proceeded in alphabetical order, nothing perhaps was yet decided.  However, one evening, on the Boulevard de Clichy, he felt his heart thump as he saw two broad shoulders, with whose lolloping motion he was well acquainted, coming towards him.

They were the shoulders of Bongrand, who seemed embarrassed.  He was the first to speak, and said: 

’You know matters aren’t progressing very well over yonder with those brutes.  But everything isn’t lost.  Fagerolles and I are on the watch.  Still, you must rely on Fagerolles; as for me, my dear fellow, I am awfully afraid of compromising your chances.’

To tell the truth, there was constant hostility between Bongrand and the President of the hanging committee, Mazel, a famous master of the School of Arts, and the last rampart of the elegant, buttery, conventional style of art.  Although they called each other ’dear colleague’ and made a great show of shaking hands, their hostility had burst forth the very first day; one of them could never ask for the admission of a picture without the other one voting for its rejection.  Fagerolles, who had been elected secretary, had, on the contrary, made himself Mazel’s amuser, his vice, and Mazel forgave his old pupil’s defection, so skilfully did the renegade flatter him.  Moreover, the young master, a regular turncoat, as his comrades said, showed even more severity than the members of the Institute towards audacious beginners.  He only became lenient and sociable when he wanted to get a picture accepted, on those occasions showing himself extremely fertile in devices, intriguing and carrying the vote with all the supple deftness of a conjurer.