y finding that they were strangers and enemies, after a long
youth of fraternity together. Life had disbanded them on the road, and
the great dissimilarity of their characters stood revealed; all that
remained in them was the bitterness left by the old enthusiastic dream,
that erstwhile hope of battle and victory to be won side by side, which
now increased their spite.

'The fact is,' sneered Jory, 'that Fagerolles did not let himself be
pillaged like a simpleton.'

But Mahoudeau, feeling vexed, became angry. 'You do wrong to laugh,' he
said, 'for you are a nice backslider yourself. Yes, you always told us
that you would give us a lift up when you had a paper of your own.'

'Ah! allow me, allow me--'

Gagniere, however, united with Mahoudeau: 'That's quite true!' he said.
'You can't say any more that what you write about us is cut out, for you
are the master now. And yet, never a word! You didn't even name us in
your articles on the last Salon.'

Then Jory, embarrassed and stammering, in his turn flew into a rage.

'Ah! well, it's the fault of that cursed Claude! I don't care to lose my
subscribers simply to please you fellows. It's impossible to do anything
for you! There! do you understand? You, Mahoudeau, may wear yourself
out in producing pretty little things; you, Gagniere, may even never do
anything more; but you each have a label on the back, and you'll need
ten years' efforts before you'll be able to get it off. In fact, there
have been some labels that would never come off! The public is amused
by it, you know; there were only you fellows to believe in the genius of
that big ridiculous lunatic, who will be locked up in a madhouse one of
these fine mornings!'

Then the dispute became terrible, they all three spoke at once, coming
at last to abominable reproaches, with such outbursts, and such furious
motion of the jaw, that they seemed to be biting one another.

Sandoz, seated on the sofa, and disturbed in the gay memories he was
recalling, was at last obliged to lend ear to the tumult which reached
him through the open doorway.

'You hear them?' whispered Claude, with a dolorous smile; 'they are
giving it me nicely! No, no, stay here, I won't let you stop them; I
deserve it, since I have failed to succeed.'

And Sandoz, turning pale, remained there, listening to that bitter
quarrelling, the outcome of the struggle for life, that grappling of
conflicting personalities, which bore all his chimera of ev