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Updated: May 17, 2025
"To be beautiful, must a woman have that thin form and that length of limb? I am not shaped in that way." He took pains to reassure her. But she was not disturbed about it. She was looking now at the little castle of the ice-vender. A sudden desire had come to her to eat an ice standing there, as the working-girls of the city stood. "Wait a moment," said Dechartre.
"Monsieur Le Menil, if next year a dolphin comes to swim near your boat, I pray you play to him on the flute the Delphic Hymn to Apollo. Do you like the sea, Monsieur Le Menil?" "I prefer the woods." Self-contained, simple, he talked quietly. "Oh, Monsieur Le Menil, I know you like woods where the hares dance in the moonlight." Dechartre, pale, rose and went out. The church scene was on.
Dechartre, pale, enervated, approached Therese, and said to her, in a low tone: "This gallery is a warehouse where picture dealers of the entire world hang the things they can not sell. And the Prince sells here things that Jews could not sell." He led her to a Holy Family exhibited on an easel draped with green velvet, and bearing on the border the name of Michael-Angelo.
Dechartre was for her the soul of those magnificent forms, the mind of those noble things. It was by him, it was through him, that she understood art and life. She took no interest in things that did not interest him. How had this affection come to her? She had no precise remembrance of it.
While they were nailing Him to the cross, I was the good thief hanged by His side." He lifted his stick and pointed toward Neuilly: "Dechartre, my friend, do you not think the Bineau Boulevard is the dusty one over there, at the right?" "Farewell, Monsieur Choulette," said Therese. "Remember me when you are a senator." "Madame, I do not forget you in any of my prayers, morning and evening.
Their subtlety made them divine that these were lovers, and they knew that lovers are prodigal. Dechartre threw coin to them, and they all returned to their happy laziness. A municipal guard received the visitors. Madame Martin regretted that there was no monk. The white gown of the Dominicans was so beautiful under the arcades of the cloister!
And Garain still shivered at the thought of his former colleague. Therese rose. Senator Loyer offered his arm to her, with the graceful attitude that he had learned forty years before at Bullier's dancing-hall. She left the politicians in the drawing-room, and hastened to meet Dechartre. A rosy mist covered the Seine, the stone quays, and the gilded trees.
Dechartre came toward Therese with an air of painful tenderness which moved her. Then, placing his clay and the instrument near the easel, and covering the figure with a wet cloth, he said to the model: "That is enough for to-day." She rose, picked up awkwardly her clothing, a handful of dark wool and soiled linen, and went to dress behind the screen.
Dechartre came to the carriage to salute the two travellers. Separated from him, Therese felt what he was to her: he had given to her a new taste of life, delicious and so vivid, so real, that she felt it on her lips.
Dechartre replied that he thought as she did, and that they must be right, she and he; since Savonarola was of the same opinion, and, finding no piety in any work of art, wished to burn them all. "There were at Florence, in the time of the superb Manfred, who was half a Mussulman, men who were said to be of the sect of Epicurus, and who sought for arguments against the existence of God.
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