n, moved and grieved, unable
to find a word, even of thanks, he kissed her religiously upon the brow.

V

ON the 15th May, a Friday, Claude, who had returned at three o'clock in
the morning from Sandoz's, was still asleep at nine, when Madame Joseph
brought him up a large bouquet of white lilac which a commissionaire had
just left downstairs. He understood at once. Christine had wished to be
beforehand in celebrating the success of his painting. For this was a
great day for him, the opening day of the 'Salon of the Rejected,' which
was first instituted that year,* and at which his picture--refused by
the hanging committee of the official Salon--was to be exhibited.

* This was in 1863.--ED.

That delicate attention on Christine's part, that fresh and fragrant
lilac, affected him greatly, as if presaging a happy day. Still in his
nightshirt, with his feet bare, he placed the flowers in his water-jug
on the table. Then, with his eyes still swollen with sleep, almost
bewildered, he dressed, scolding himself the while for having slept so
long. On the previous night he had promised Dubuche and Sandoz to call
for them at the latter's place at eight o'clock, in order that they
might all three go together to the Palais de l'Industrie, where they
would find the rest of the band. And he was already an hour behind time.

Then, as luck would have it, he could not lay his hands upon anything in
his studio, which had been turned topsy-turvy since the despatch of the
big picture. For more than five minutes he hunted on his knees for his
shoes, among a quantity of old chases. Some particles of gold leaf flew
about, for, not knowing where to get the money for a proper frame, he
had employed a joiner of the neighbourhood to fit four strips of board
together, and had gilded them himself, with the assistance of his friend
Christine, who, by the way, had proved a very unskilful gilder. At last,
dressed and shod, and having his soft felt hat bespangled with yellow
sparks of the gold, he was about to go, when a superstitious thought
brought him back to the nosegay, which had remained alone on the centre
of the table. If he did not kiss the lilac he was sure to suffer an
affront. So he kissed it and felt perfumed by its strong springtide
aroma.

Under the archway, he gave his key as usual to the doorkeeper. 'Madame
Joseph,' he said, 'I shall not be home all day.'

In less than twenty minutes he was in the Rue d'Enfer, at Sandoz'