"Now tell us who is that counterfeit of old George Sand who came here yesterday with your recommendation?"
"With a dog under each arm?"
"A black and a blond one. She offered us copy, patrons, loans, her experience, romantic souvenirs, the last boots of Alexander Dumas, cards of the chief of police, the address of a photographer and three copyists, an interview with Bouvier, the right to reprint the complete works of her late husband, tickets for the coming Elysée ball and for women, too, I think, but that was a bit vague."
"Oh!" Sylvestre gently answered, "she is old and poor, she must make a living."
"I do not see the necessity," Renaudeau said.
"A fine silhouette for a 'Parisian' novel," Fortier said.
"Doubtless, because it would be true?" asked Jean Chrétien, a poet who professed Buddhism. "Would you become a modernist?"
"A naturalist," said Fortier, laughing, "I want to make money."
"I fancy you will want to a little later," said Entragues. "The original cavern is empty. Do you take Huysmans for a naturalist? But his A Rebours is the most insolent mockery of this very school, when he simply replies to Zola's "naturiste" and democratic enthusiasm:
"Nature has had its day!"