Aloyse bowed stiffly, and pompously left the room.
When Grafton reached The Castle it was apparent to him that there had been a storm, doubtless a quarrel between the Grand Duke and his son.
Luncheon was served in a huge, clammily cool chamber of state. Conversation was all but impossible, so elaborate were the ceremonies of feeding the Grand Duke. Each dish for him was passed from servant to servant in ascending order, and then from gentleman-in-waiting to gentleman-in-waiting in ascending rank until at last it was set before His Royal Highness. After he had been served, the others were served with almost equal elaboration of ceremony—Aloyse before Erica, and Grafton, by special courtesy, immediately after her, to the irritation of the ladies and gentlemen of the court whose rank in the royal household gave them seats at the royal luncheon-table. Grafton watched the tedious ceremonies, marvelling that any one would tolerate them day after day and year after year. Erica and Aloyse sat gazing into their plates and did not speak. The Grand Duke fussed and blustered over his food, and ate greedily, with much smacking of lips, between mouthfuls asking questions about America.
It was half-past three when he rose and said to Grafton, “We will smoke in my apartment.” Grafton followed him through five or six enormous rooms, all gaudily decorated, all clammy cool, all impossible as human habitations. They ascended a stairway down which fifteen men might have marched abreast. They came to a mezzanine floor, and, dodging under a low beam, went along a dark passage-way. It ended in a small, low-ceilinged room plainly furnished, every article showing signs of long and hard usage. There was much dust and an odor of stuffy staleness, and the heat was intense. “Here’s where I live,” said the Grand Duke, dropping to a ragged old lounge with a sigh of pleasure and lighting a pipe. “I have to have some place where I can be comfortable.” The pipe was old and strong, the windows were tight shut. “I always feel cold after eating,” said the Grand Duke. “You don’t mind the windows being closed?”
“Not at all,” said Grafton, in an unconvincing tone. It seemed to him that if he stayed there many minutes he would faint. “I suppose it is about my Rembrandts that you wished to talk to me,” he began, wishing to hasten the end.
“What you said about them interested me greatly,” replied the Grand Duke. “I thought possibly we might come to some agreement about them—if—”
“Well, I was attracted by only one picture in your collection that you could part with—the one you bought from Acton—the spurious Velasquez. I’ve always wanted it—in fact, I came here to try to get it. But I’ve almost lost interest in it.”
“It is idle to discuss that. I could not think of giving up the picture; it is one of my ancestors—”
“That is by no means certain—as you know.”
“I so regard it,” said Casimir.