‘No doubt, public stupidity is boundless, and I am quite willing that you should trade on it. Only I remember the first starts that we old fellows had. Dash it! We were not spoiled like that, I can tell you. We had ten years’ labour and struggle before us ere we could impose on people a picture the size of your hand; whereas nowadays the first hobbledehoy who can stick a figure on its legs makes all the trumpets of publicity blare. And what kind of publicity is it? A hullabaloo from one end of France to the other, sudden reputations that shoot up of a night, and burst upon one like thunderbolts, amid the gaping of the throng. And I say nothing of the works themselves, those works announced with salvoes of artillery, awaited amid a delirium of impatience, maddening Paris for a week, and then falling into everlasting oblivion!’ ‘This is an indictment against journalism,’ said Jory, who had stretched himself on the couch and lighted another cigar. ‘There is a great deal to be said for and against it, but devil a bit, a man must keep pace with the times.’ Bongrand shook his head, and then started off again, amid a tremendous burst of mirth: ‘No! no! one can no longer throw off the merest daub without being hailed as a young “master.” Well, if you only knew how your young masters amuse me!’ But as if these words had led to some other ideas, he cooled down, and turned towards Claude to ask this question: ‘By the way, have you seen Fagerolles’ picture?’ ‘Yes,’ said the young fellow, quietly. They both remained looking at each other: a restless smile had risen to their lips, and Bongrand eventually added: ‘There’s a fellow who pillages you right and left.’ Jory, becoming embarrassed, had lowered his eyes, asking himself whether he should defend Fagerolles. He, no doubt, concluded that it would be profitable to do so, for he began to praise the picture of the actress in her dressing-room, an engraving of which was then attracting a great deal of notice in the print-shops. Was not the subject a really modern one? Was it not well painted, in the bright clear tone of the new school? A little more vigour might, perhaps, have been desirable; but every one ought to be left to his own temperament. And besides, refinement and charm were not so common by any means, nowadays. Bending over his canvas, Bongrand, who, as a rule, had nothing but paternal praise for the young ones, shook and made a visible effort to avoid an outburst. The explosion took place, however, in spite of himself.