her, while Chaine, who was no longer painting, glanced at her over his
picture. So far, he had not opened his lips. But as Mahoudeau at last
went off with his three friends, he made up his mind to ask, in his
husky voice:

'Shall you come home to-night?'

'Very late. Have your dinner and go to bed. Good-bye.'

Then Chaine remained alone with Mathilde in the damp shop, amidst the
heaps of clay and the puddles of water, while the chalky light from
the whitened windows glared crudely over all the wretched untidiness.

Meantime the four others, Claude and Mahoudeau, Jory and Sandoz,
strolled along, seeming to take up the whole width of the Boulevard
des Invalides. It was the usual thing, the band was gradually
increased by the accession of comrades picked up on the way, and then
came the wild march of a horde upon the war-path. With the bold
assurance of their twenty summers, these young fellows took possession
of the foot pavement. The moment they were together trumpets seemed to
sound in advance of them; they seized upon Paris and quietly dropped
it into their pockets. There was no longer the slightest doubt about
their victory; they freely displayed their threadbare coats and old
shoes, like destined conquerors of to-morrow who disdained bagatelles,
and had only to take the trouble to become the masters of all the
luxury surrounding them. And all this was attended by huge contempt
for everything that was not art--contempt for fortune, contempt for
the world at large, and, above all, contempt for politics. What was
the good of all such rubbish? Only a lot of incapables meddled with
it. A warped view of things, magnificent in its very injustice,