Original in his house as in everything else, Elsinore was an extended copy of a Russian peasant's cottage. Made of logs, with a great deal of carving in wood, and a big Russian stove in each room, the furniture was covered with linen, embroidered in blue and red by Russian peasants, the tiles of the stoves being incised in dark blue, red, emerald green, and gold with white, in true peasant style.
Simplicity was evidently his rule of life, but one room was filled to the ceiling with books, and to this the Professor naturally gravitated on his arrival. Leaving him perfectly happy among those rare editions of which at odd times Rensslaer was an inveterate collector, Gay and her host sauntered through the quaint house, singularly modest for the far-spreading park surrounding it, but containing many trophies of his skill, and to her utter astonishment, in other realms than that of sport.
The cases full of gold and silver medals, of stars and decorations, interested her very little, nor did Rensslaer trouble to explain that none of those prizes were for horses, but for a domain in which he stood alone as champion of the world. But she came to a full stop before the figure, raised on a pedestal, of a girl with strange barbaric head-dress above her sweet face, hands folded on breast, and the drapery a little blown away from the exquisite line of back and hips, and "Exhibited Allied Artists, 190-" written below.
"That's La Russie," he said. "The colouring and tinting are an exact reproduction of the actual dress and jewels."
"It's beautiful," said Gay, to whom the colouring mattered nothing but the idea was everything, and reluctantly she tore herself away to look at an Indian Chief in all his war paint, and modelled in silver, on a table hard by.
From the summit of his brow, and outlining his haughty back, his feathers made a regal silhouette that extended beyond his horse's tail, and the contrast of his grim impassivity, and icy air of detachment, with the horse's eagerness as it strained forward was marvellously rendered, making Gay declare that the horse was a dear, and that whoever did that, must love horses.
The same remark applied to a model of Ascetics Silver, winner of the Grand National 1906, his ribs plainly showing, his upward, proudly-soaring eye, dilated nostrils, and the veins standing out on his face and body, drawing from her a cry of delight. Beneath was written, "Exhibited Paris Society Animal Painters," and the name of the sculptor made the girl jump.
"You did that?" she cried incredulously, the colour rushing to her face.
"And here is my Little Mermaid," said Rensslaer, and Gay knew that what she saw before her was dear to him.
"What a darling!" she exclaimed, and indeed it was a sweet little body, with childish, startled eyes, and hands impulsively put up to her cheeks. One could see the grief and horror in the poor little thing's face—for of course she was watching her beautiful human prince being married, and the tears seemed to be just coming.