He thought there was something very sad about
that execrable painting, and the wasted life of that peasant who was a
victim of middle-class admiration. He always gave him the delight of a
little praise; so now he shook his hand cordially, exclaiming:
'Your machine's very good too. Ah, my fine fellow, draughtsmanship has
no terrors for you!'
'No, indeed,' declared Chaine, who had grown purple with vanity under
his black bushy beard.
He and Mahoudeau joined the band, and the latter asked the others
whether they had seen Chambouvard's 'Sower.' It was marvellous; the
only piece of statuary worth looking at in the Salon. Thereupon they
all followed him into the garden, which the crowd was now invading.
'There,' said Mahoudeau, stopping in the middle of the central path:
'Chambouvard is standing just in front of his "Sower."'
In fact, a portly man stood there, solidly planted on his fat legs,
and admiring his handiwork. With his head sunk between his shoulders,
he had the heavy, handsome features of a Hindu idol.
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