this early hour of
the morning the avenue, with its double lines of iron chairs on either
pathway, and its lawns, dotted with flowerbeds and clumps of shrubbery,
stretching away under the blue shadows of the trees, was quite deserted;
however, at the Rond-Point a lady and gentleman on horseback passed the
cart at a gentle trot. Florent, who had made himself a pillow with
a bundle of cabbage-leaves, was still gazing at the sky, in which a
far-stretching rosy glow was appearing. Every now and then he would
close his eyes, the better to enjoy the fresh breeze of the morning
as it fanned his face. He was so happy to escape from the markets, and
travel on through the pure air, that he remained speechless, and did not
even listen to what was being said around him.

"And then, too, what fine jokers are those fellows who imprison art in a
toy-box!" resumed Claude, after a pause. "They are always repeating the
same idiotic words: 'You can't create art out of science,' says one;
'Mechanical appliances kill poetry,' says another; and a pack of fools
wail over the fate of the flowers, as though anybody wished the flowers
any harm! I'm sick of all such twaddle; I should like to answer all that
snivelling with some work of open defiance. I should take a pleasure in
shocking those good people. Shall I tell you what was the finest thing
I ever produced since I first began to work, and the one which I recall
with the greatest pleasure? It's quite a story. When I was at my
Aunt Lisa's on Christmas Eve last year that idiot of an Auguste, the
assistant, was setting out the shop-window. Well, he quite irritated
me by the weak, spiritless way in which he arranged the display; and at
last I requested him to take himself off, saying that I would group
the things myself in a proper manner. You see, I had plenty of bright
colours to work with--the red of the tongues, the yellow of the hams,
the blue of the paper shavings, the rosy pink of the things that had
been cut into, the green of the sprigs of heath, and the black of the
black-puddings--ah! a magnificent black, which I have never managed to
produce on my palette. And naturally, the _crepine_, the small sausages,
the chitterlings, and the crumbed trotters provided me with delicate
greys and browns. I produced a perfect work of art. I took the dishes,
the plates, the pans, and the jars, and arranged the different colours;
and I devised a wonderful picture of still life, with subtle scales of