'Well,' asked Claude at last, 'are we going to wait for Gagniere?'

At this there was a protest. Gagniere was a bore. Besides, he would
turn up as soon as he smelt the soup.

'Let's be off, then,' said Sandoz. 'There's a leg of mutton this
evening, so let's try to be punctual.'

Each paid his score, and they all went out. Their departure threw the
cafe into a state of emotion. Some young fellows, painters, no doubt,
whispered together as they pointed at Claude, much in the same manner
as if he were the redoubtable chieftain of a horde of savages. Jory's
famous article was producing its effect; the very public was becoming
his accomplice, and of itself was soon to found that school of the
open air, which the band had so far only joked about. As they gaily
said, the Cafe Baudequin was not aware of the honour they had done it
on the day when they selected it to be the cradle of a revolution.

Fagerolles having reinforced the group, they now numbered five, and
slowly they took their way across Paris, with their tranquil look of
victory. The more numerous they were, the more did they stretch across
the pavement, and carry away on their heels the burning life of the
streets. When they had gone down the Rue de Clichy, they went straight
along the Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin, turned towards the Rue de
Richelieu, crossed the Seine by the Pont des Arts, so as to fling
their gibes at the Institute, and finally reached the Luxembourg by
way of the Rue de Seine, where a poster, printed in three colours, the
garish announcement of a travelling circus, made them all shout with
admiration. Evening was coming on; the stream of wayfarers flowed more