Miss Anthon followed his least motion, absorbed as over a mathematical problem in tracing his induction. “Yes, I see,” she murmured.
“Let’s have another look at the real Titian.” Erard moved off.
“Why! they still call this a Titian, too,” Miss Parker exclaimed incredulously. Erard shrugged his shoulders. “It will take them five years to get the label off. When I first came to Paris, they used to call this thing a Giorgione. Only last year they labelled it Bonifazio.”
“Then the labels aren’t right,” Miss Parker remarked naïvely.
“Sometimes,” Erard replied with a smile. Miss Parker remained absorbed in this new aspect of the world,—that it wasn’t always what it pretended to be. If a thing was said, printed; if it could be seen in a book,—why it must be so. If you were to suspect the evidence of your simple senses, what a bewildering world this would be!
Erard said little more when they came to the Titian. He studied it thoughtfully with his glasses, remarking at last. “The forefinger isn’t his, nor the thumb. Some bungler put that on. Well, you have seen enough for one day, Miss Anthon. Don’t look at any more pictures.”
Miss Parker made a little face of disappointed surprise: she was greatly interested in this new oracle. But Miss Anthon accepted his decision as final, though her robust zest had not been appeased. She turned to reëxamine Miss Parker; the two women chatted, as they passed down the crowded gallery instinctively testing each other, much as Erard had tested the pictures. When they reached the Salon Carré, they paused as if satisfied with their preliminary trial. Miss Anthon dismissed her companion with unceremonious directness. “I want to see you again, and I shall try to find you at Passy. Good-by.”
“She’s got pretty thick with him already,” Anthon remarked, as Erard disappeared with his sister. Miss Anthon was saying to her companion: “You have made me see so much!”
“Yes, you can see, when you are told to look,” Erard assented quizzically. “If you can keep on using your eyes and not your ‘intuitions,’ you may know something about pictures some day.”
“If you would—” she began humbly.