? I am going to give them some flesh, and living flesh,
too; not the bladders of lard that they turn out.'

'It's a woman bathing, isn't it?' asked Sandoz.

'No; I shall put some vine leaves around her head. A Bacchante, you
understand.'

At this Claude flew into a violent passion.

'A Bacchante? Do you want to make fools of people? Does such a thing as
a Bacchante exist? A vintaging girl, eh? And quite modern, dash it all.
I know she's nude, so let her be a peasant woman who has undressed.
And that must be properly conveyed, mind; people must realise that she
lives.'

Mahoudeau, taken aback, listened, trembling. He was afraid of Claude,
and bowed to his ideal of strength and truth. So he even improved upon
the painter's idea.

'Yes, yes, that's what I meant to say--a vintaging girl. And you'll see
whether there isn't a real touch of woman about her.'

At that moment Sandoz, who had been making the tour of the huge block of
clay, exclaimed: 'Why, here's that sneak of a Chaine.'

Behind the pile, indeed, sat Chaine, a burly fellow who was quietly
painting away, copying the fireless rusty stove on a small canvas. It
could be told that he was a peasant by his heavy, deliberate manner and
his bull-neck, tanned and hardened like leather. His only noticeable
feature was his forehead, displaying all the bumps of obstinacy; for his
nose was so small as to be lost between his red cheeks, while a stiff
beard hid his powerful jaws. He came from Saint Firmin, a village about
six miles from Plassans, where he had been a cow-boy, until he drew for
the conscription; and his misfortunes dated from the enthusiasm that a
gentleman of the neighbourhood had shown for the walking-stick handles
which he carved out of roots with his knife. From that moment, having
become a rustic genius, an embryo great man for this local connoisseur,
who happened to be a member of the museum committee, he had been helped
by him, adulated and driven crazy with hopes; but he had successively
failed in everything--his studies and competitions--thus missing the
town's purse. Nevertheless, he had started for Paris, after worrying his
father, a wretched peasant, into premature payment of his heritage, a
thousand francs, on which he reckoned to live for a twelvemonth while
awaiting the promised victory. The thousand francs had lasted eighteen
months. Then, as he had only twenty francs left, he had taken up his
quarters with his friend, Mahoudeau. They both