“And now,” said Mr. Beckendorff, raising the first blind, “you shall see my pictures. At what do you estimate this Breughel?”
The window, which was of stained green glass, gave to the landscape an effect similar to that generally produced by the artist mentioned. The Prince, who was already puzzled by finding one who at the same time was both his host and his enemy so different a character from what he had conceived, and who, being by temper superstitious, considered that this preliminary false opinion of his was rather a bad omen, did not express any great admiration of the gallery of Mr. Beckendorff; but Vivian, who had no ambitious hopes or fears to affect his temper, and who was amused by the character with whom he had become so unexpectedly acquainted, good-naturedly humoured the fantasies of the Minister, and said that he preferred his picture to any Breughel he had ever seen.
“I see you have a fine taste,” said Mr. Beckendorff, with a serious air, but in a courteous tone; “you shall see my Claude!”
The rich yellow tint of the second window gave to the fanciful garden all that was requisite to make it look Italian.
“Have you ever been in Italy, sir?” asked Beckendorff.
“I have not.”
“You have, Mr. von Philipson?”
“Never south of Germany,” answered the Prince, who was hungry, and eyed with a rapacious glance the capital luncheon which he saw prepared for him.
“Well, then, when either of you go, you will, of course, not miss the Lago Maggiore. Gaze on Isola Bella at sunset, and you will not view so fair a scene as this! And now, Mr. von Philipson,” said Beckendorff, “do me the favour of giving me your opinion of this Honthorst?”
His Highness would rather have given his opinion of the dish of game which still smoked upon the table, but which he was mournfully convinced would not smoke long. “But,” thought he, “this is the last!” and so he admired the effect produced by the flaming panes, to which Beckendorff swore that no piece ever painted by Gerard Honthorst, for brilliancy of colouring and boldness of outline, could be compared. “Besides,” continued Beckendorff, “mine are all animated pictures. See that cypress, waving from the breeze which is now stirring, and look! look at this crimson peacock! look! Mr. von Philipson.”