Fagerolles himself also began to joke.

’Come, a little courage, gentlemen; go the round, examine it, you’ll be repaid for your trouble.  Really now, gentlemen, be kind, rescue it; pray do that good action!’

They all grew merry in listening to him, but with cruel laughter they refused more harshly than ever.  “No, no, never!’

‘Will you take it for your “charity"?’ cried a comrade.

This was a custom; the committee-men had a right to a ‘charity’; each of them could select a canvas among the lot, no matter how execrable it might be, and it was thereupon admitted without examination.  As a rule, the bounty of this admission was bestowed upon poor artists.  The forty paintings thus rescued at the eleventh hour, were those of the beggars at the door—­those whom one allowed to glide with empty stomachs to the far end of the table.

‘For my “charity,"’ repeated Fagerolles, feeling very much embarrassed; ’the fact is, I meant to take another painting for my “charity.”  Yes, some flowers by a lady—­’

He was interrupted by loud jeers.  Was she pretty?  In front of the women’s paintings the gentlemen were particularly prone to sneer, never displaying the least gallantry.  And Fagerolles remained perplexed, for the ‘lady’ in question was a person whom Irma took an interest in.  He trembled at the idea of the terrible scene which would ensue should he fail to keep his promise.  An expedient occurred to him.

’Well, and you, Bongrand?  You might very well take this funny little dead child for your charity.’

Bongrand, wounded to the heart, indignant at all the bartering, waved his long arms: 

’What! I? I insult a real painter in that fashion?  Let him be prouder, dash it, and never send anything to the Salon!’

Then, as the others still went on sneering, Fagerolles, desirous that victory should remain to him, made up his mind, with a proud air, like a man who is conscious of his strength and does not fear being compromised.

‘All right, I’ll take it for my “charity,"’ he said.

The others shouted bravo, and gave him a bantering ovation, with a series of profound bows and numerous handshakes.  All honour to the brave fellow who had the courage of his opinions!  And an attendant carried away in his arms the poor derided, jolted, soiled canvas; and thus it was that a picture by the painter of ‘In the Open Air’ was at last accepted by the hanging committee of the Salon.

On the very next morning a note from Fagerolles apprised Claude, in a couple of lines, that he had succeeded in getting ‘The Dead Child’ admitted, but that it had not been managed without trouble.  Claude, despite the gladness of the tidings, felt a pang at his heart; the note was so brief, and was written in such a protecting, pitying style, that all the humiliating features of the business were apparent to him.  For a moment he felt sorry over this victory,