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Updated: May 26, 2025
'I say, Mahoudeau, he now exclaimed, 'you shall have an article; I'll launch that woman of yours. What limbs, my boys! She's magnificent! Then suddenly changing the conversation: 'By the way, he said, 'my miserly father has apologised. He is afraid I shall drag his name through the mud, so he sends me a hundred francs a month now. I am paying my debts.
At first, no doubt, they were preserved with jealous care, despite the lack of room, but then they lapsed into the grotesque honor of all lifeless things, until a day came when, taking up a mallet, he himself finished them off, breaking them into mere lumps of plaster, so as to be rid of them. 'You say we have got two hours, eh? resumed Mahoudeau.
The loins swayed and the bosom swelled, as with a deep sigh, between the parted arms. And suddenly the head drooped, the thighs bent, and the figure came forward like a living being, with all the wild anguish, the grief-inspired spring of a woman who is flinging herself down. Claude at last understood things, when Mahoudeau uttered a terrible cry.
Dubuche was going to dine out; Fagerolles had an appointment; in vain did Jory, Mahoudeau, and Gagniere try to drag Claude to Foucart's, a twenty-five sous' restaurant; Sandoz was already taking him away on his arm, feeling anxious at seeing him so excited. 'Come along, I promised my mother to be back for dinner. You'll take a bit with us. It will be nice; we'll finish the day together.
He had opened the little window, and seated himself on a level with the roof, for he felt oppressed by the heat in the studio. But all at once he interrupted the architect. 'I say, are you coming to dinner on Thursday? All the other fellows will be there Fagerolles, Mahoudeau, Jory, Gagniere.
Have I any debts, I who have always starved? answered Mahoudeau in a roughly arrogant tone. 'Ought a fellow to build himself a palace and spend money on creatures like that Irma Becot, who's ruining Fagerolles? At this Jory grew angry, while the others jested, and Irma's name went flying over the table.
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.
'Without this confounded cold, it would be finished, answered Mahoudeau. 'I'll show it you. He rose from his knees after listening to the snorting of the stove. In the middle of the studio, on a packing-case, strengthened by cross-pieces, stood a statue swathed is linen wraps which were quite rigid, hard frozen, draping the figure with the whiteness of a shroud.
So, after exchanging nerveless and silent handshakes with the others, he went off to sleep at Melun. 'What a failure he is! muttered Mahoudeau. 'Music has killed painting; he'll never do anything! He himself had to leave, and the door had scarcely closed behind his back when Jory declared: 'Have you seen his last paperweight? He'll end by sculpturing sleeve-links.
Mahoudeau, seated on the floor before his statue, did not take his eyes from it, but became absorbed in heart-rending contemplation. However, his sobs subsided, and at last he said with a long-drawn sigh: 'I shall have to model her lying down! There's no other way! Ah, my poor old woman, I had such trouble to set her on her legs, and I thought her so grand like that!
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