‘Hang it!’ said Sandoz, trying to elbow his way, ’it will be no easy job to move about and find your picture.’

A burst of fraternal feverishness made him eager to get to it.  That day he only lived for the work and glory of his old chum.

‘Don’t worry!’ exclaimed Claude; ’we shall get to it all right.  My picture won’t fly off.’

And he affected to be in no hurry, in spite of the almost irresistible desire that he felt to run.  He raised his head and looked around him; and soon, amidst the loud voices of the crowd that had bewildered him, he distinguished some restrained laughter, which was almost drowned by the tramp of feet and the hubbub of conversation.  Before certain pictures the public stood joking.  This made him feel uneasy, for despite all his revolutionary brutality he was as sensitive and as credulous as a woman, and always looked forward to martyrdom, though he was ever grieved and stupefied at being repulsed and railed at.

‘They seem gay here,’ he muttered.

‘Well, there’s good reason,’ remarked Sandoz.  ’Just look at those extravagant jades!’

At the same moment, while still lingering in the first gallery, Fagerolles ran up against them without seeing them.  He started, being no doubt annoyed by the meeting.  However, he recovered his composure immediately, and behaved very amiably.

’Hallo!  I was just thinking of you.  I have been here for the last hour.’

‘Where have they put Claude’s picture?’ asked Sandoz.  Fagerolles, who had just remained for twenty minutes in front of that picture studying it and studying the impression which it produced on the public, answered without wincing, ’I don’t know; I haven’t been able to find it.  We’ll look for it together if you like.’

And he joined them.  Terrible wag as he was, he no longer affected low-bred manners to the same degree as formerly; he already began to dress well, and although with his mocking nature he was still disposed to snap at everybody as of old, he pursed his lips into the serious expression of a fellow who wants to make his way in the world.  With an air of conviction he added:  ’I must say that I now regret not having sent anything this year!  I should be here with all the rest of you, and have my share of success.  And there are really some astonishing things, my boys! those horses, for instance.’

He pointed to a huge canvas in front of them, before which the crowd was gathering and laughing.  It was, so people said, the work of an erstwhile veterinary surgeon, and showed a number of life-size horses in a meadow, fantastic horses, blue, violet, and pink, whose astonishing anatomy transpierced their sides.

‘I say, don’t you humbug us,’ exclaimed Claude, suspiciously.

But Fagerolles pretended to be enthusiastic.  ’What do you mean?  The picture’s full of talent.  The fellow who painted it understands horses devilish well.  No doubt he paints like a brute.  But what’s the odds if he’s original, and contributes a document?’