ked down by a little hand-truck which two big full-bearded fellows
brought up at a gallop. It was from this truck that the night of heavy
toil derived its name: and for the last week the students who had got
behindhand with their work, through taking up petty paid jobs outside,
had been repeating the cry, 'Oh! I'm in the truck and no mistake.' The
moment the vehicle appeared, a clamour arose. It was a quarter to nine
o'clock, there was barely time to reach the School of Arts. However,
a helter-skelter rush emptied the studio; each brought out his chases,
amidst a general jostling; those who obstinately wished to give their
designs a last finishing touch were knocked about and carried away with
their comrades. In less than five minutes every frame was piled upon
the truck, and the two bearded fellows, the most recent additions to the
studio, harnessed themselves to it like cattle and drew it along with
all their strength, the others vociferating, and pushing from behind. It
was like the rush of a sluice; the three courtyards were crossed amidst
a torrential crash, and the street was invaded, flooded by the howling
throng.

Claude, nevertheless, had set up running by the side of Dubuche, who
came at the fag-end, very vexed at not having had another quarter of an
hour to finish a tinted drawing more carefully.

'What are you going to do afterwards?' asked Claude.

'Oh! I've errands which will take up my whole day.'

The painter was grieved to see that even this friend escaped him. 'All
right, then,' said he; 'in that case I leave you. Shall we see you at
Sandoz's to-night?'

'Yes, I think so; unless I'm kept to dinner elsewhere.'

Both were getting out of breath. The band of embryo architects, without
slackening their pace, had purposely taken the longest way round for the
pleasure of prolonging their uproar. After rushing down the Rue du Four,
they dashed across the Place Gozlin and swept into the Rue de l'Echaude.
Heading the procession was the truck, drawn and pushed along more and
more vigorously, and constantly rebounding over the rough paving-stones,
amid the jolting of the frames with which it was laden. Its escort
galloped along madly, compelling the passers-by to draw back close to
the houses in order to save themselves from being knocked down; while
the shop-keepers, standing open-mouthed on their doorsteps, believed
in a revolution. The whole neighbourhood seemed topsy-turvy. In the
Rue Jacob, such was the