erely and
with a sort of anxious deference he again promised Claude that he would
do everything in his power to further the hanging of his picture, 'The
Dead Child.'

However, some people arrived; more than fifteen persons came in and
went off in less than an hour--fathers bringing young pupils, exhibitors
anxious to say a good word on their own behalf, friends who wanted
to barter influence, even women who placed their talents under the
protection of their charms. And one should have seen the painter play
his part as a candidate, shaking hands most lavishly, saying to one
visitor: 'Your picture this year is so pretty, it pleases me so much!'
then feigning astonishment with another: 'What! you haven't had a medal
yet?' and repeating to all of them: 'Ah! If I belonged to the committee,
I'd make them walk straight.' He sent every one away delighted, closed
the door behind each visitor with an air of extreme amiability, through
which, however, there pierced the secret sneer of an ex-lounger on the
pavement.

'You see, eh?' he said to Claude, at a moment when they happened to be
left alone. 'What a lot of time I lose with those idiots!'

Then he approached the large window, and abruptly opened one of the
casements; and on one of the balconies of the house over the way a
woman clad in a lace dressing-gown could be distinguished waving her
handkerchief. Fagerolles on his side waved his hand three times in
succession. Then both windows were closed again.

Claude had recognised Irma; and amid the silence which fell Fagerolles
quietly explained matters:

'It's convenient, you see, one can correspond. We have a complete system
of telegraphy. She wants to speak to me, so I must go--'

Since he and Irma had resided in the avenue, they met, it was said,
on their old footing. It was even asserted that he, so 'cute,' so
well-acquainted with Parisian humbug, let himself be fleeced by her,
bled at every moment of some good round sum, which she sent her maid
to ask for--now to pay a tradesman, now to satisfy a whim, often for
nothing at all, or rather for the sole pleasure of emptying his
pockets; and this partly explained his embarrassed circumstances, his
indebtedness, which ever increased despite the continuous rise in the
quotations of his canvases.

Claude had put on his hat again. Fagerolles was shuffling about
impatiently, looking nervously at the house over the way.

'I don't send you off, but you see she's waiting for