Sentimental Education (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) by Gustave Flaubert Page A

been getting on well all this time?” said he, turning round to Frédéric.
    And, without waiting for an answer, he asked Hussonnet in a low tone:
    “What is your friend’s name?” Then, raising his voice:
    “Take a cigar out of the box on the filing cabinet.”
    The office of LArt Industriel, situated in the center of Paris, was a convenient meeting place, a neutral ground wherein rivalries elbowed each other familiarly. On this day among those present were Anténor Braive, who painted portraits of kings; Jules Burrieu, who by his sketches was beginning to familiarize people with the wars in Algeria; l the caricaturist Sombary, the sculptor Vourdat, and others. And not a single one of them corresponded with the student’s preconceived ideas. Their manners were simple, their talk free and easy. The mystic Lovarias told an obscene story; and the inventor of Oriental landscape, the famous Dittmer, wore a knitted shirt under his waistcoat, and went home on the omnibus.
    The first topic that came up was the case of a girl named Apollonie, formerly a model, whom Burrieu alleged that he had seen on the boulevard in a carriage with four horses and two postilions. Hussonnet explained this metamorphosis through the succession of persons who had loved her.
    “How well this sly dog knows the girls of Paris!” said Arnoux.
    “After you, if there are any of them left, sire,” replied the Bohemian, with a military salute, in imitation of the grenadier offering his flask to Napoleon.
    Then they talked about some paintings for which Apollonie had sat for the female figures. They criticised their absent brethren, expressing astonishment at the sums paid for their works; and they were all complaining of not having been sufficiently remunerated themselves, when the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a man of medium height, who had his coat fastened by a single button, and whose eyes glittered with a rather wild expression.
    “What a bunch of shopkeepers you are!” said he. “God bless my soul! What does that signify? The old masters did not trouble their heads about the money—Correggio, Murillo—”
    “Add Pellerin,” said Sombary.
    But, without taking the slightest notice of this witticism, he went on talking with such vehemence, that Arnoux was forced to repeat twice to him:
    “My wife needs you on Thursday. Don’t forget!”
    This remark brought Madame Arnoux back to Frédéric’s thoughts. No doubt, one might be able to reach her through the little room near the sofa. Arnoux had just opened the door leading into it to get a pocket-handkerchief, and Frédéric had seen a wash-stand at the far end of the room. But at this point a kind of muttering sound came from the corner by the fireplace; it was caused by the person who sat in the armchair reading the newspaper. He was a man of five feet nine inches in height, with rather droopy eyelids, a head of grey hair, and an imposing appearance; and his name was Regimbart.
    “What’s the matter now, citizen?” said Arnoux.
    “Another rotten trick on the part of Government!”
    The thing that he was referring to was the dismissal of a schoolmaster.
    Pellerin again took up his parallel between Michael Angelo and Shakespeare. Dittmer was departing when Arnoux pulled him back in order to put two bank notes into his hand. Thereupon Hussonnet said, considering this an opportune time:
    “Couldn’t you give me an advance, my dear master—?”
    But Arnoux had resumed his seat, and was administering a severe reprimand to an old disheveled man who wore a pair of blue spectacles.
    “A nice fellow you are, Père Isaac! Here are three works discredited, finished! Everybody is laughing at me! People know what they are now! What do you want me to do with them? I’ll have to send them off to California—or to the devil! No, shut up!”
    The specialty of this old fellow consisted in attaching the signatures of the great masters to the bottom of these pictures. Arnoux refused