im, duly turned his success to profit in a methodical
fashion, never let one of his pictures go for less than twenty, thirty,
forty thousand francs. Orders would have fallen on the painter's
shoulders as thick as hail, if he had not affected the disdain, the
weariness of the man whose slightest sketches are fought for. And yet
all this display of luxury smacked of indebtedness, there was only so
much paid on account to the upholsterers; all the money--the money won
by lucky strokes as on 'Change--slipped through the artist's fingers,
and was spent without trace of it remaining. Moreover, Fagerolles,
still in the full flush of his sudden good fortune, did not calculate or
worry, being confident that he would always sell his works at higher
and higher prices, and feeling glorious at the high position he was
acquiring in contemporary art.

Eventually, Claude espied a little canvas on an ebony easel, draped with
red plush. Excepting a rosewood tube case and box of crayons, forgotten
on an article of furniture, nothing reminding one of the artistic
profession could be seen lying about.

'Very finely treated,' said Claude, wishing to be amiable, as he stood
in front of the little canvas. 'And is your picture for the Salon sent?'

'Ah! yes, thank heavens! What a number of people I had here! A perfect
procession which kept me on my legs from morning till evening during a
week. I didn't want to exhibit it, as it lowers one to do so, and Naudet
also opposed it. But what would you have done? I was so begged and
prayed; all the young fellows want to set me on the committee, so that I
may defend them. Oh! my picture is simple enough--I call it "A
Picnic." There are a couple of gentlemen and three ladies under some
trees--guests at some chateau, who have brought a collation with them
and are eating it in a glade. You'll see, it's rather original.'

He spoke in a hesitating manner, and when his eyes met those of Claude,
who was looking at him fixedly, he lost countenance altogether, and
joked about the little canvas on the easel.

'That's a daub Naudet asked me for. Oh! I'm not ignorant of what I
lack--a little of what you have too much of, old man. You know that
I'm still your friend; why, I defended you only yesterday with some
painters.'

He tapped Claude on the shoulders, for he had divined his old
master's secret contempt, and wished to win him back by his old-time
caresses--all the wheedling practices of a hussy. Very sinc