famished, greedily mopped out his plate, and related a
story about a mother having refused him her daughter because he was an
architect. The end of the dinner thus became very boisterous; they all
rattled on together. The only dessert, a piece of Brie cheese, met with
enormous success. Not a scrap of it was left, and the bread almost ran
short. The wine did run short, so they each swallowed a clear draught
of water, smacking their lips the while amidst great laughter. And, with
faces beaming, and well-filled paunches, they passed into the bedroom
with the supreme content of folks who have fared very sumptuously
indeed.

Those were Sandoz's jolly evenings. Even at the times when he was
hard up he had always had some boiled beef and broth to share with his
comrades. He felt delighted at having a number of them around him, all
friends, inspired by the same ideas. Though he was of their own age, he
beamed with fatherly feelings and satisfied good-nature when he saw them
in his rooms, around him, hand in hand, and intoxicated with hope. As he
had but two rooms, the bedroom did duty as a drawing-room, and became as
much theirs as his. For lack of sufficient chairs, two or three had to
seat themselves on the bed. And on those warm summer evenings the window
remained wide open to let in the air. From it two black silhouettes were
to be seen rising above the houses, against the clear sky--the tower of
St. Jacques du Haut-Pas and the tree of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum. When
money was plentiful there was beer. Every one brought his own tobacco,
the room soon became full of smoke, and without seeing each other they
ended by conversing far into the night, amidst the deep mournful silence
of that deserted district.

On that particular evening, at about nine o'clock, the charwoman came
in.

'Monsieur, I have done. Can I go?'

'Yes, go to bed. You have left the kettle on the fire, haven't you? I'll
make the tea myself.'

Sandoz had risen. He went off at the heels of the charwoman, and only
returned a quarter of an hour afterwards. He had no doubt been to kiss
his mother, whom he tucked up every night before she dozed off.

Meanwhile the voices had risen to a high pitch again. Fagerolles was
telling a story.

'Yes, old fellow; at the School they even correct Nature herself.
The other day Mazel comes up to me and says: "Those two arms don't
correspond"; whereupon I reply: "Look for yourself, monsieur--the
model's are like that." I