“No wonder they fought,” replied the Grand Duke. “They were so bored that they had to fight to save themselves from suicide or lunacy. Any one would make war in their position—if he dared.”
“But it isn’t allowed so much nowadays.”
“No; worse luck,” growled the Grand Duke.
“Why!” exclaimed Grafton. “There’s the spurious Velasquez from Acton’s collection. Surely the Grand Duke wasn’t caught on that.” Grafton went to the proper distance and angle and examined his beloved Spaniard with a tranquil face and a covetous heart. “It seems strange to meet an old acquaintance so far from home. If I hadn’t been ill when Acton sold, I’d have bid on this. It’s pleasing, very pleasing, though clearly not a Velasquez.”
“We got it because it is a portrait of one of our house—the Duke of Hispania Media, who captured Barcelona early in the eighteenth century.”
“Was that before or after the Archduke Charles took it?”
“It was the capture sometimes erroneously credited to the Archduke Charles. He was present, I believe.”
Grafton laughed good-naturedly. “And in England I suppose they’d say Peterborough took it—he was present, I believe.”
“The English are great liars,” said Casimir, sourly.
“That’s what every nation says about every other,” said Grafton.