Namelessly glancing at Lucy, Isabel slid near to him, seized his hand and spoke.
“I would go blind for thee, Pierre; here, take out these eyes, and use them for glasses.” So saying, she looked with a strange momentary haughtiness and defiance at Lucy.
A general half involuntary movement was now made, as if they were about to depart.
“Ye are ready; go ye before”—said Lucy meekly; “I will follow.”
“Nay, one on each arm”—said Pierre—“come!”
As they passed through the low arched vestibule into the street, a cheek-burnt, gamesome sailor passing, exclaimed—“Steer small, my lad; ’tis a narrow strait thou art in!”
“What says he?”—said Lucy gently. “Yes, it is a narrow strait of a street indeed.”
But Pierre felt a sudden tremble transferred to him from Isabel, who whispered something inarticulate in his ear.
Gaining one of the thoroughfares, they drew near to a conspicuous placard over a door, announcing that above stairs was a gallery of paintings, recently imported from Europe, and now on free exhibition preparatory to their sale by auction. Though this encounter had been entirely unforeseen by Pierre, yet yielding to the sudden impulse, he at once proposed their visiting the pictures. The girls assented, and they ascended the stairs.
In the anteroom, a catalogue was put into his hand. He paused to give one hurried, comprehensive glance at it. Among long columns of such names as Rubens, Raphael, Angelo, Domenichino, Da Vinci, all shamelessly prefaced with the words “undoubted,” or “testified,” Pierre met the following brief line:—“No. 99. A stranger’s head, by an unknown hand.”