in Picardy, and extensive shooting grounds. His first large
profits had come from the rise in value of works left by illustrious
artists, now defunct, whose talent had been denied while they lived,
such as Courbet, Millet, and Rousseau; and this had ended by making
him disdain any picture signed by a still struggling artist. However,
ominous rumours were already in circulation. As the number of well-known
pictures was limited, and the number of amateurs could barely be
increased, a time seemed to be coming when business would prove very
difficult. There was talk of a syndicate, of an understanding with
certain bankers to keep up the present high prices; the expedient of
simulated sales was resorted to at the Hotel Drouot--pictures being
bought in at a big figure by the dealer himself--and bankruptcy seemed
to be at the end of all that Stock Exchange jobbery, a perfect tumble
head-over-heels after all the excessive, mendacious _agiotage_.

'Good-day, dear master,' said Naudet, who had drawn near. 'So you have
come, like everybody else, to see my Fagerolles, eh?'

He no longer treated Bongrand in the wheedling, respectful manner of
yore. And he spoke of Fagerolles as of a painter belonging to him, of a
workman to whom he paid wages, and whom he often scolded. It was he who
had settled the young artist in the Avenue de Villiers, compelling him
to have a little mansion of his own, furnishing it as he would have
furnished a place for a hussy, running him into debt with supplies of
carpets and nick-nacks, so that he might afterwards hold him at his
mercy; and now he began to accuse him of lacking orderliness and
seriousness, of compromising himself like a feather-brain. Take that
picture, for instance, a serious painter would never have sent it to the
Salon; it made a stir, no doubt, and people even talked of its obtaining
the medal of honour; but nothing could have a worse effect on high
prices. When a man wanted to get hold of the Yankees, he ought to know
how to remain at home, like an idol in the depths of his tabernacle.

'You may believe me or not, my dear fellow,' he said to Bongrand, 'but
I would have given twenty thousand francs out of my pocket to prevent
those stupid newspapers from making all this row about my Fagerolles
this year.'

Bongrand, who, despite his sufferings, was listening bravely, smiled.

'In point of fact,' he said, 'they are perhaps carrying indiscretion too
far. I read an article yesterday i