had been devoting himself to artistic work of a kind that he did not care to connect his name with, such as portraits for two crayons, or pasticcios from the great masters for amateurs of limited knowledge; and, as he felt humiliated by these inferior productions, he preferred to hold his tongue on the subject as a general rule. But "Arnoux's dirty conduct" exasperated him too much. He had to relieve his feelings.
In accordance with an order, which had been given in Frederick's very presence, he had brought Arnoux two pictures. Thereupon the dealer took the liberty of criticising them. He found fault with the composition, the colouring, and the drawing – above all the drawing; he would not, in short, take them at any price. But, driven to extremities by a bill falling due, Pellerin had to give them to the Jew Isaac; and, a fortnight later, Arnoux himself sold them to a Spaniard for two thousand francs.
"Not a sou less! What rascality! and, faith, he has done many other things just as bad. One of these mornings we'll see him in the dock!"
"How you exaggerate!" said Frederick, in a timid voice.
"Come, now, that's good; I exaggerate!" exclaimed the artist, giving the table a great blow with his fist.
This violence had the effect of completely restoring the young man's self-command. No doubt he might have acted more nicely; still, if Arnoux found these two pictures —
"Bad! say it out! Are you a judge of them? Is this your profession? Now, you know, my youngster, I don't allow this sort of thing on the part of mere amateurs."
"Ah! well, it's not my business," said Frederick.
"Then, what interest have you in defending him?" returned Pellerin, coldly.
The young man faltered:
"But – since I am his friend – "
"Go, and give him a hug for me. Good evening!"
And the painter rushed away in a rage, and, of course, without paying for his drink.
Frederick, whilst defending Arnoux, had convinced himself. In the heat of his eloquence, he was filled with tenderness towards this man, so intelligent and kind, whom his friends calumniated, and who had now to work all alone, abandoned by them. He could not resist a strange impulse to go at once and see him again. Ten minutes afterwards he pushed open the door of the picture-warehouse.
Arnoux was preparing, with the assistance of his clerks, some huge placards for an exhibition of pictures.
"Halloa! what brings you back again?"
This question, simple though it was, embarrassed Frederick, and, at a loss for an answer, he asked whether they had happened to find a notebook of his – a little notebook with a blue leather cover.
"The one that you put your letters to women in?" said Arnoux.
Frederick, blushing like a young girl, protested against such an assumption.
"Your verses, then?" returned the picture-dealer.
He handled the pictorial specimens that were to be exhibited, discovering their form, colouring, and frames; and Frederick felt more and more irritated by his air of abstraction, and particularly by the appearance of his hands – large hands, rather soft, with flat nails. At length, M. Arnoux arose, and saying, "That's disposed of!" he chucked the young man familiarly under the chin. Frederick was offended at this liberty, and recoiled a pace or two; then he made a dash for the shop-door, and passed out through it, as he imagined, for the last time in his life. Madame Arnoux herself had been lowered by the vulgarity of her husband.
During the same week he got a letter from Deslauriers, informing him that the clerk would be in Paris on the following Thursday. Then he flung himself back violently on this affection as one of a more solid and lofty character. A man of this sort was worth all the women in the world. He would no longer have any need of Regimbart, of Pellerin, of Hussonnet, of anyone! In order to provide his friend with as comfortable lodgings as possible, he bought an iron bedstead and a second armchair, and stripped off some of his own bed-covering to garnish this one properly. On Thursday morning he was dressing himself to go to meet Deslauriers when there was a ring at the door.
Arnoux entered.
"Just one word. Yesterday I got a lovely trout from Geneva. We expect you by-and-by – at seven o'clock sharp. The address is the Rue de Choiseul 24 bis. Don't forget!"
Frederick was obliged to sit down; his knees were tottering under him. He repeated to himself, "At last! at last!" Then he wrote to his tailor, to his hatter, and to his bootmaker; and he despatched these three notes by three different messengers.
The key turned in the lock, and the door-keeper appeared with a trunk on his shoulder.
Frederick, on seeing Deslauriers, began to tremble like an adulteress under the glance of her husband.
"What has happened to you?" said Deslauriers. "Surely you got my letter?"
Frederick had not enough energy left to lie. He opened his arms, and flung himself on his friend's breast.
Then the clerk told his story. His father thought to avoid giving an account of the expense of tutelage, fancying that the period limited for rendering such accounts was ten years; but, well up in legal procedure, Deslauriers had managed to get the share coming to him from his mother into his clutches – seven thousand francs clear – which he had there with him in an old pocket-book.
"'Tis a reserve fund, in case of misfortune. I must think over the best way of investing it, and find quarters for myself to-morrow morning. To-day I'm perfectly free, and am entirely at your service, my old friend."
"Oh! don't put yourself about," said Frederick. "If you had anything of importance to do this evening – "
"Come, now! I would be a selfish wretch – "
This epithet, flung out at random, touched Frederick to the quick, like a reproachful hint.
The door-keeper had placed on the table close to the fire some chops, cold meat, a large lobster, some sweets for dessert, and two bottles of Bordeaux.
Deslauriers was touched by these excellent preparations to welcome his arrival.
"Upon my word, you are treating me like a king!"
They talked about their past and about the future; and, from time to time, they grasped each other's hands across the table, gazing at each other tenderly for a moment.
But a messenger came with a new hat. Deslauriers, in a loud tone, remarked that this head-gear was very showy. Next came the tailor himself to fit on the coat, to which he had given a touch with the smoothing-iron.
"One would imagine you were going to be married," said Deslauriers.
An hour later, a third individual appeared on the scene, and drew forth from a big black bag a pair of shining patent leather boots. While Frederick was trying them on, the bootmaker slyly drew attention to the shoes of the young man from the country.
"Does Monsieur require anything?"
"Thanks," replied the clerk, pulling behind his chair his old shoes fastened with strings.
This humiliating incident annoyed Frederick. At length he exclaimed, as if an idea had suddenly taken possession of him:
"Ha!
