“Now! See there! Those four pictures—I would not sell those four Watteaus for one hundred thousand francs. And the other door is worth the same. Ha!”
“You are lucky, Baron.”
“I think so. I do not wish to part with them: I don't think of selling them. See the folds of that brocade! See the ease and grace of the lady in the sacque, who sits on the bank there, under the myrtles, with the guitar on her lap! and see the animation and elegance of that dancing boy with the tambourine! This is a chef-d'œuvre. I ought not to part with that, on any terms—no, never! You no doubt know many collectors, wealthy men, in England. Look at that shot silk, green and purple; and whom do you take that to be a portrait of, that lady with the castanets?”
He was pointing out each object, on which he descanted, with his stumpy finger, his hands being, I am bound to admit, by no means clean.
“If you do happen to know such people, nevertheless, I should not object to your telling them where this treasure may be seen, I've no objection. I should not like to part with them, that is true. No, no, no; but every man may be tempted, it is possible—possible, just possible.”
“I shall certainly mention them to some friends.”
“Wealthy men, of course,” said the baron.
“It is an expensive taste, Baron, and none but wealthy people can indulge it.”
“True, and these would be very expensive. They are unique; that lady there is the Du Barry—a portrait worth, alone, six thousand francs. Ha! he! Yes, when I take zese out and place zem, as I mean before I go, to be seen, they will bring all Europe together. Mit speck fangt man mause—with bacon one catches mice!”
“No doubt they will excite attention, Baron. But I feel I am wasting your time and abusing your courtesy in permitting my visit, the immediate object of which was to earnestly beg from you some information which, I think, no one else can give me.”