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Updated: July 8, 2025
Sandoz and Dubuche were already descending the stairs with a great clatter, and Claude followed them, fleeing his work, in agony at having to leave it thus scarred with a gaping gash. THE beginning of the week proved disastrous to Claude.
Dubuche, anxious to pay his parents the interest of the money placed on his head, was ever on the look-out for some petty jobs among architects, outside his studies at the School of Arts. As for Claude, thanks to his thousand francs a year, he had his full liberty; but the latter days of each month were terrible enough, especially if he had to share the fag-end of his allowance.
Claude was on the point of inquiring about their comrades in Paris, but he kept silent. Not even a word was said respecting Christine, and he was reluctantly deciding to quit Dubuche, holding out his hand to take leave, when, in spite of himself, this question fell from his quivering lips: 'And is Sandoz all right? 'Yes, he's pretty well. I seldom see him. He spoke to me about you last month.
Every Thursday, quite a band met at Sandoz's: friends from Plassans and others met in Paris revolutionaries to a man, and all animated by the same passionate love of art. 'Next Thursday? No, I think not, answered Dubuche. 'I am obliged to go to a dance at a family's I know. 'Where you expect to get hold of a dowry, I suppose? 'Well, it wouldn't be such a bad spec.
The young man slowly descended the stairs and found himself in the street, stupefied, as it were, by so prodigious an event as an escapade on the part of Dubuche. It was a piece of inconceivable bad luck.
One never saw him now. Dubuche asserted all sorts of things about him. There had been a row between Fagerolles and Mahoudeau on the subject whether evening dress was a thing to be reproduced in sculpture. Then on the previous Sunday Gagniere had returned home from a Wagner concert with a black eye.
Where were the Salons of yore which they had all reached in a band, the mad excursions through the galleries as in an enemy's country, the violent disdain they had felt on going away, the discussions which had made their tongues swell and emptied their brains? Nobody now saw Dubuche.
Claude, interested at once, was already questioning him when the servant brought in a telegram. 'All right, said Sandoz, 'it's from Dubuche, who apologises; he promises to come and surprise us at about eleven o'clock. At this moment Henriette threw the door wide open, and personally announced that dinner was ready.
'I will rough in the shoulders to be ready for to-morrow, and then we'll go down. Sandoz and Dubuche, knowing that it was of no use to prevent him from killing himself in this fashion, resigned themselves to the inevitable. The latter lighted his pipe, and flung himself on the couch.
He had that morning climbed up to the plateau to find a subject, having at last grown tired of the banks of the Seine; and at the bend of a road he stopped short in amazement on seeing Dubuche, in a silk hat, and carefully-buttoned frock coat, coming towards him, between the double row of elder hedges. 'What! is it you?
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