At this Claude flew into a violent passion.

'A Bacchante? Do you want to make fools of people? Does such a thing
as a Bacchante exist? A vintaging girl, eh? And quite modern, dash it
all. I know she's nude, so let her be a peasant woman who has
undressed. And that must be properly conveyed, mind; people must
realise that she lives.'

Mahoudeau, taken aback, listened, trembling. He was afraid of Claude,
and bowed to his ideal of strength and truth. So he even improved upon
the painter's idea.

'Yes, yes, that's what I meant to say--a vintaging girl. And you'll
see whether there isn't a real touch of woman about her.'

At that moment Sandoz, who had been making the tour of the huge block
of clay, exclaimed: 'Why, here's that sneak of a Chaine.'

Behind the pile, indeed, sat Chaine, a burly fellow who was quietly
painting away, copying the fireless rusty stove on a small canvas. It
could be told that he was a peasant by his heavy, deliberate manner
and his bull-neck, tanned and hardened like leather. His only
noticeable feature was his forehead, displaying all the bumps of
obstinacy; for his nose was so small as to be lost between his red
cheeks, while a stiff beard hid his powerful jaws. He came from Saint
Firmin, a village about six miles from Plassans, where he had been a
cow-boy, until he drew for the conscription; and his misfortunes dated
from the enthusiasm that a gentleman of the neighbourhood had shown
for the walking-stick handles which he carved out of roots with his