sand in front of the buffet, eating some crumbs which a young woman threw him by way of amusement. Of all the tumult, however, Claude only heard the ocean-like din afar, the rumbling of the people rolling onwards in the galleries. And a recollection came to him, he remembered that noise which had burst forth like a hurricane in front of his picture at the Salon of the Rejected. But nowadays people no longer laughed at him; upstairs the giant roar of Paris was acclaiming Fagerolles! It so happened that Sandoz, who had turned round, said to Claude: ‘Hallo! there’s Fagerolles!’ And, indeed, Fagerolles and Jory had just laid hands on a table near by without noticing their friends, and the journalist, continuing in his gruff voice a conversation which had previously begun, remarked: ‘Yes, I saw his “Dead Child”! Ah! the poor devil! what an ending!’ But Fagerolles nudged Jory, and the latter, having caught sight of his two old comrades, immediately added: ‘Ah! that dear old Claude! How goes it, eh? You know that I haven’t yet seen your picture. But I’m told that it’s superb.’ ‘Superb!’ declared Fagerolles, who then began to express his surprise. ‘So you lunched here. What an idea! Everything is so awfully bad. We two have just come from Ledoyen’s. Oh! such a crowd and such hustling, such mirth! Bring your table nearer and let us chat a bit.’ They joined the two tables together. But flatterers and petitioners were already after the triumphant young master. Three friends rose up and noisily saluted him from afar. A lady became smilingly contemplative when her husband had whispered his name in her ear. And the tall, thin fellow, the artist whose picture had been badly hung, and who had pursued him since the morning, as enraged as ever, left a table where he was seated at the further end of the buffet, and again hurried forward to complain, imperatively demanding ‘the line’ at once. ‘Oh! go to the deuce!’ at last cried Fagerolles, his patience and amiability exhausted. And he added, when the other had gone off, mumbling some indistinct threats: ‘It’s true; a fellow does all he can to be obliging, but those chaps would drive one mad! All of them on the “line”! leagues of “line” then! Ah! what a business it is to be a committee-man! One wears out one’s legs, and one only reaps hatred as reward.’ Claude, who was looking at him with his oppressed air, seemed to wake up for a moment, and murmured: ‘I wrote to you; I wanted to go and see you to thank you. Bongrand told me about all the trouble you had. So thanks again.’ But Fagerolles hastily broke in: ‘Tut, tut! I certainly owed that much to our old friendship. It’s I who am delighted to have given you any pleasure.’ He showed the embarrassment which always came upon him in presence of the acknowledged master of his youth, that kind of humility which filled him perforce when he was with the man whose mute disdain, even at this moment, sufficed to spoil all his triumph.