“He looks ill,” said Madame Hochon; “he is not at all like you.” “No, madame,” said Joseph, with the brusque candor of an artist; “I am like my father, and very ugly at that.” Madame Hochon pressed Agathe’s hand which she was holding, and glanced at her as much as to say, “Ah! my child; I understand now why you prefer your good-for-nothing Philippe.” “I never saw your father, my dear boy,” she said aloud; “it is enough to make me love you that you are your mother’s son. Besides, you have talent, so the late Madame Descoings used to write to me; she was the only one of late years who told me much about you.” “Talent!” exclaimed the artist, “not as yet; but with time and patience I may win fame and fortune.” “By painting?” said Monsieur Hochon ironically. “Come, Adolphine,” said Madame Hochon, “go and see about dinner.” “Mother,” said Joseph, “I will attend to the trunks which they are bringing in.” “Hochon,” said the grandmother to Francois, “show the rooms to Monsieur Bridau.” As the dinner was to be served at four o’clock and it was now only half past three, Baruch rushed into the town to tell the news of the Bridau arrival, describe Agathe’s dress, and more particularly to picture Joseph, whose haggard, unhealthy, and determined face was not unlike the ideal of a brigand. That evening Joseph was the topic of conversation in all the households of Issoudun. “That sister of Rouget must have seen a monkey before her son was born,” said one; “he is the image of a baboon.” “He has the face of a brigand and the eyes of a basilisk.” “All artists are like that.” “They are as wicked as the red ass, and as spiteful as monkeys.” “It is part of their business.” “I have just seen Monsieur Beaussier, and he says he would not like to meet him in a dark wood; he saw him in the diligence.” “He has got hollows over the eyes like a horse, and he laughs like a maniac.” “The fellow looks as though he were capable of anything; perhaps it’s his fault that his brother, a fine handsome man they tell me, has gone to the bad. Poor Madame Bridau doesn’t seem as if she were very happy with him.” “Suppose we take advantage of his being here, and have our portraits painted?” The result of all these observations, scattered through the town was, naturally, to excite curiosity. All those who had the right to visit the Hochons resolved to call that very night and examine the Parisians. The arrival of these two persons in the stagnant town was like the falling of a beam into a community of frogs.