This sufficed to make both the others wild. Why, were there not a
hundred pictures in the Louvre composed in precisely the same way?
Hadn't all Paris and all the painters and tourists of the world seen
them? And besides, if people had never seen anything like it, they
would see it now. After all, they didn't care a fig for the public!

Not in the least disconcerted by these violent replies, Dubuche
repeated quietly: 'The public won't understand--the public will think
it indecorous--and so it is!'

'You wretched bourgeois philistine!' exclaimed Claude, exasperated.
'They are making a famous idiot of you at the School of Arts. You
weren't such a fool formerly.'

These were the current amenities of his two friends since Dubuche had
attended the School of Arts. He thereupon beat a retreat, rather
afraid of the turn the dispute was taking, and saved himself by
belabouring the painters of the School. Certainly his friends were
right in one respect, the School painters were real idiots. But as for
the architects, that was a different matter. Where was he to get his
tuition, if not there? Besides his tuition would not prevent him from
having ideas of his own, later on. Wherewith he assumed a very
revolutionary air.

'All right,' said Sandoz, 'the moment you apologise, let's go and
dine.'

But Claude had mechanically taken up a brush and set to work again.
Beside the gentleman in the velveteen jacket the figure of the
recumbent woman seemed to be fading away. Feverish and impatient, he