ideas, for steadiness of sentiment, absolute kindliness, and great
loyalty; though they had no esteem for his palette, they loved the man
who held it.

"What a misfortune it is that Fougeres has the vice of painting!" said
his comrades.

But for all this, Grassou gave excellent counsel, like those
feuilletonists incapable of writing a book who know very well where a
book is wanting. There was this difference, however, between literary
critics and Fougeres; he was eminently sensitive to beauties; he felt
them, he acknowledged them, and his advice was instinct with a spirit
of justice that made the justness of his remarks acceptable. After the
revolution of July, Fougeres sent about ten pictures a year to the
Salon, of which the jury admitted four or five. He lived with the most
rigid economy, his household being managed solely by an old charwoman.
For all amusement he visited his friends, he went to see works of art,
he allowed himself a few little trips about France, and he planned to
go to Switzerland in search of inspiration. This detestable artist was
an excellent citizen; he mounted guard duly, went to reviews, and paid
his rent and provision-bills with bourgeois punctuality.

Having lived all his life in toil and poverty, he had never had the
time to love. Poor and a bachelor, until now he did not desire to
complicate his simple life. Incapable of devising any means of
increasing his little fortune, he carried, every three months, to his
notary, Cardot, his quarterly earnings and economies. When the notary
had received about three thousand francs he invested them in some
first mortgage, the interest of which he drew himself and added to the
quarterly payments made to him by Fougeres. The painter was awaiting