“Then France is the poorer by three masterpieces.”
“France will get them back at my death.”
“You have arranged that?”
She nodded. “They belong to his country, of course.”
He came and sat beside her again. “I told you that the Luxembourg had bought my portrait of you?”
“Yes. Dear François the news gave me more pleasure than anything I have heard about you for a long time.”
“It was to be my masterpiece, if you remember. They’re quite right. I’ve never done anything to touch it since. It belongs to my youth.”
He saw that she was pale, and that her eyes looked sad.
“I’ve distressed you. I’m a brute!” he declared impulsively. “And we’re not all hommes ratés, thank Heaven! Some of the men of the old Rue de Fleurus days are not to be despised.”
“Thouret, Bussières, Giroux,” murmured Anne.