being fond of the wide expanse of the outer boulevards, where they
could roam and lounge at ease. They continued silent, for their heads
were heavy still, but the comfort of being together gradually made
them more serene. Still it was only when they were opposite the
Western Railway Station that Sandoz spoke.

'I say, suppose we go to Mahoudeau's, to see how he's getting on with
his big machine. I know that he has given "his gods and saints" the
slip to-day.'

'All right,' answered Claude. 'Let's go to Mahoudeau's.'

They at once turned into the Rue du Cherche-Midi. There, at a few
steps from the boulevard, Mahoudeau, a sculptor, had rented the shop
of a fruiterer who had failed in business, and he had installed his
studio therein, contenting himself with covering the windows with a
layer of whitening. At this point, the street, wide and deserted, has
a quiet, provincial aspect, with a somewhat ecclesiastical touch.
Large gateways stand wide open showing a succession of deep roomy
yards; from a cowkeeper's establishment comes a tepid, pungent smell
of litter; and the dead wall of a convent stretches away for a goodly
length. It was between this convent and a herbalist's that the shop
transformed into a studio was situated. It still bore on its
sign-board the inscription, 'Fruit and Vegetables,' in large yellow
letters.

Claude and Sandoz narrowly missed being blinded by some little girls
who were skipping in the street. On the foot pavement sat several
families whose barricades of chairs compelled the friends to step down
on to the roadway. However, they were drawing nigh, when the sight of