hem had thought of keeping his part of glory to
himself? Nowadays the battle was beginning. Each hungry one was eagerly
biting. And a fissure was there, a scarcely perceptible crack that had
rent the old, sworn friendships, and some day would make them crumble
into a thousand pieces.

However, Sandoz, with his craving for perpetuity, had so far noticed
nothing; he still beheld them as they had been in the Rue d'Enfer, all
arm in arm, starting off to victory. Why change what was well? Did not
happiness consist in one pleasure selected from among all, and then
enjoyed for ever afterwards? And when, an hour later, the others made up
their minds to go off, wearied by the dull egotism of Dubuche, who
had not left off talking about his own affairs; when they had dragged
Gagniere, in a trance, away from the piano, Sandoz, followed by his
wife, absolutely insisted, despite the coldness of the night, on
accompanying them all to the gate at the end of the garden. He shook
hands all round, and shouted after them:

'Till Thursday, Claude; till next Thursday, all of you, eh? Mind you all
come!'

'Till Thursday!' repeated Henriette, who had taken the lantern and was
holding it aloft so as to light the steps.

And, amid the laughter, Gagniere and Mahoudeau replied, jokingly: 'Till
Thursday, young master! Good-night, young master!'

Once in the Rue Nollet, Dubuche immediately hailed a cab, in which
he drove away. The other four walked together as far as the outer
boulevards, scarcely exchanging a word, looking dazed, as it were, at
having been in each other's company so long. At last Jory decamped,
pretending that some proofs were waiting for him at the office of his
newspaper. Then Gagniere mechanically stopped Claude in front of the
Cafe Baudequin, the gas of which was still blazing away. Mahoudeau
refused to go in, and went off alone, sadly ruminating, towards the Rue
du Cherche-Midi.

Without knowing how, Claude found himself seated at their old table,
opposite Gagniere, who was silent. The cafe had not changed. The friends
still met there of a Sunday, showing a deal of fervour, in fact, since
Sandoz had lived in the neighbourhood; but the band was now lost amid
a flood of new-comers; it was slowly being submerged by the increasing
triteness of the young disciples of the 'open air.' At that hour
of night, however, the establishment was getting empty. Three young
painters, whom Claude did not know, came to shake hands with hi