"Hey!" said Leon, "what are you pondering over, my dear Dubourdieu?
Some fine symbolic composition? My dear cousin, I have the pleasure to
present to you our illustrious painter Dubourdieu, not less celebrated
for his humanitarian convictions than for his talents in art.
Dubourdieu, my cousin Palafox."

Dubourdieu, a small, pale man with melancholy blue eyes, bowed
slightly to Gazonal, who bent low as before a man of genius.

"So you have elected Stidmann in place of--" he began.

"How could I help it? I wasn't there," replied Lora.

"You bring the Academy into disrepute," continued the painter. "To
choose such a man as that! I don't wish to say ill of him, but he
works at a trade. Where are you dragging the first of arts,--the art
those works are the most lasting; bringing nations to light of which
the world has long lost even the memory; an art which crowns and
consecrates great men? Yes, sculpture is priesthood; it preserves the
ideas of an epoch, and you give its chair to a maker of toys and
mantelpieces, an ornamentationist, a seller of bric-a-brac! Ah! as
Chamfort said, one has to swallow a viper every morning to endure the
life of Paris. Well, at any rate, Art remains to a few of us; they
can't prevent us from cultivating it--"

"And besides, my dear fellow, you have a consolation which few artists
possess; the future is yours," said Bixiou. "When the world is
converted to our doctrine, you will be at the head of your art; for
you are putting into it ideas which people will understand--_when_ they
are generalized! In fifty years from now you'll be to all the world