houdeau had just found him again with
Jory and Fagerolles, perceived the unhappy painter again standing in
front of his picture, at the same spot where he had met him the first
time. At the moment of going off the wretched fellow had come up there
again, harassed and attracted despite himself.

There was now the usual five o'clock crush. The crowd, weary of winding
round the galleries, became distracted, and pushed and shoved without
ever finding its way out. Since the coolness of the morning, the heat of
all the human bodies, the odour of all the breath exhaled there had made
the atmosphere heavy, and the dust of the floors, flying about, rose up
in a fine mist. People still took each other to see certain pictures,
the subjects of which alone struck and attracted the crowd. Some
went off, came back, and walked about unceasingly. The women were
particularly obstinate in not retiring; they seemed determined to remain
there till the attendants should push them out when six o'clock began
to strike. Some fat ladies had foundered. Others, who had failed to find
even the tiniest place to sit down, leaned heavily on their parasols,
sinking, but still obstinate. Every eye was turned anxiously and
supplicatingly towards the settees laden with people. And all that those
thousands of sight-seers were now conscious of, was that last fatigue of
theirs, which made their legs totter, drew their features together, and
tortured them with headache--that headache peculiar to fine-art shows,
which is caused by the constant straining of one's neck and the blinding
dance of colours.

Alone on the little settee where at noon already they had been talking
about their private affairs, the two decorated gentlemen were still
chatting quietly, with their minds a hundred leagues away from the
place. Perhaps they had returned thither, perhaps they had not even
stirred from the spot.

'And so,' said the fat one, 'you went in, pretending not to understand?'

'Quite so,' replied the thin one. 'I looked at them and took off my hat.
It was clear, eh?'

'Astonishing! You really astonish me, my dear friend.'

Claude, however, only heard the low beating of his heart, and only
beheld the 'Dead Child' up there in the air, near the ceiling. He did
not take his eyes off it, a prey to a fascination which held him there,
quite independent of his will. The crowd turned round him, people's feet
trod on his own, he was pushed and carried away; and, like some i