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Updated: May 6, 2025
And on the next day Sandoz, who, as it happened, wanted to take some notes for a novel, on the other side of Montmartre, went in search of Claude, carried him off and kept him idling about until night-time.
So he went up the street, and slowly walked on as far as the Place du Pantheon, without any definite aim. Then it occurred to him that he might just look into the Municipal Offices, if only to shake hands with Sandoz. That would, at any rate, mean ten minutes well spent. But he positively gasped when he was told by an attendant that M. Sandoz had asked for a day off to attend a funeral.
At last, thoroughly exhausted, he declared that he would touch the canvas no more; and Sandoz, on coming to see him one day, at four o'clock, did not find him at home. Christine declared that he had just gone out to take a breath of air on the height of Montmartre. The breach between Claude and his old friends had gradually widened.
The principal figure, the recumbent woman, as yet scarcely more than outlined, floated about like some aerial creature seen in dreams, some eagerly desired Eve springing from the earth, with her features vaguely smiling and her eyelids closed. 'Well, now, what are you going to call it? asked Sandoz. 'The Open Air, replied Claude, somewhat curtly.
His art evidently came very easily to him; it seemed as if he could do anything with a turn of the hand. 'And Gagniere? asked Mahoudeau; 'haven't you seen him? 'No; I have been here for the last hour. Just then Jory, who had remained silent, nudged Sandoz, and directed his attention to a girl seated with a gentleman at a table at the back of the room.
'Yes, if you like. 'For how many am I to lay the cloth? 'Oh! as for that, one never knows. Lay for five, at any rate; we'll see afterwards. Dinner at seven, eh? we'll try to be home by then. When they were on the landing, Sandoz, leaving Claude to wait for him, stole into his mother's room. When he came out again, in the same discreet affectionate manner, they both went downstairs in silence.
On the previous night he had promised Dubuche and Sandoz to call for them at the latter's place at eight o'clock, in order that they might all three go together to the Palais de l'Industrie, where they would find the rest of the band. And he was already an hour behind time.
At this point of Sandoz's story, Claude, who had begun to listen to his friend, inquired: 'Then what is Dubuche doing now? 'I don't know nothing probably, answered Sandoz. 'He told me that he was anxious about his children's health, and was taking care of them.
He was calm, neither proud nor ashamed of his booth, and he had not aged, having still a leathery aspect; though, on the other hand, his nose had completely vanished between his cheeks, whilst his mouth, clammy with prolonged silence, was buried in his moustache and beard. 'Hallo! so we meet again! said Sandoz, gaily. 'Do you know, your paintings have a lot of effect?
Then Claude remained there, erect, unconscious and haunted, his eyes raised on high, amid the continuous flow of the crowd which passed on, quite indifferent, without one glance for that unique sacred thing, visible to him alone. And it was there that Sandoz came upon him, amid the jostling.
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