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Updated: May 15, 2025
And the exodus from the Salon must have been nearly over; a long string of pedestrians passed by, gentlemen who looked like critics, each with a catalogue under his arm. But all at once Gagniere became enthusiastic: 'Ah! Courajod, there was one who had his share in inventing landscape painting! Have you seen his "Pond of Gagny" at the Luxembourg? 'A marvel! exclaimed Claude.
However, at dessert there came a diversion, for Gagniere all at once remarked to Jory: 'By the way, I saw you with Mathilde the day before yesterday. Yes, yes, in the Rue Dauphine. Jory, who had turned very red, tried to deny it; 'Oh, a mere accidental meeting honour bright! he stammered. 'I don't know where she hangs out, or I would tell you.
Gagniere did not hear, but continued talking, enraptured, as it were. 'In Schumann one finds everything the infinite. And Wagner, too, whom they hissed again last Sunday! But a fresh call from Fagerolles made him start. 'Eh! what? What am I going to send to the Salon? A small landscape, perhaps; a little bit of the Seine.
Pouillaud, the old jester of their dormitory, who had become so grave a lawyer, was now in trouble over some adventure with a woman. Ah! that brute of a Pouillaud! But Claude did not answer, for, having heard his name mentioned in the dining-room, he listened attentively, trying to understand. Jory, Mahoudeau, and Gagniere, unsatiated and eager for another bite, had started on the massacre again.
Sandoz thought the whole thing very wonderful; Jory and Gagniere discussed the strength of stays and trusses; the former mainly concerned about the monetary loss involved, and the other demonstrating with a chair that the statue might have been kept up.
Mahoudeau and Gagniere were now talking about Fagerolles; showing themselves covertly bitter, without openly attacking him. As yet they contented themselves with ironical glances and shrugs of the shoulders all the silent contempt of fellows who don't wish to slash a chum. Then they fell back on Claude; they prostrated themselves before him, overwhelmed him with the hopes they set in him.
Then suddenly the tumult increased again; Gagniere was being congratulated about a connoisseur whose acquaintance he had made in the Palais Royal one afternoon, while the band played, an eccentric gentleman living on a small income, who never indulged in any other extravagance than that of buying pictures. The other artists laughed and asked for the gentleman's address.
The question of witnesses embarrassed them for a moment. As she was absolutely unacquainted with anybody, he selected Sandoz and Mahoudeau to act for her. For a moment he had thought of replacing the latter by Dubuche, but he never saw the architect now, and he feared to compromise him. He, Claude, would be content with Jory and Gagniere.
On entering the second gallery they gave a glance round the walls, but the picture they sought was not there. In lieu thereof they perceived Irma Becot on the arm of Gagniere, both of them pressed against a hand-rail, he busy examining a small canvas, while she, delighted at being hustled about, raised her pink little mug and laughed at the crowd.
Gagniere, short, slight, and vague looking, with a doll-like startled face, set off by a fair curly beard, stood for a moment on the threshold blinking his green eyes. He belonged to Melun, where his well-to-do parents, who were both dead, had left him two houses; and he had learnt painting, unassisted, in the forest of Fontainebleau.
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