And the moment he discovered the names of the artists his whole manner abruptly changed.
"Get me a screw-driver! Ma foi!" he cried out hoarsely. "Can it be possible that my hopes, aroused to the highest pitch by the finding of this underground passageway, are to be realized!"
And in response to his peremptory command one of the poilus left the room almost on a run.
The atmosphere seemed surcharged with tense excitement. Every one was speaking at the same time, but the noise—the confusion—was so great that probably none understood what the others were saying.
Like a man almost overcome by his feelings, the nephew of the count sent the light flashing over the other boxes and cases, and exactly as the art student had been affected so was he. Every inscription he saw appeared still further to increase his emotion.
"If it should only be so!" he cried, in a strained voice, at length. "But we shall soon know. Will that man never come back, I wonder! Ah!"
The footsteps of the poilu in the passageway rapidly grew louder, and presently he walked into the room, exclaiming:
"Here it is, Monsieur de Morancourt; here it is!"
The nephew of the count seized the tool extended toward him, and, surrounded by an intensely eager and interested group, set to work unscrewing the cover of one of the boxes. A sudden hush settled over the room.
With a hand that trembled, the young man presently completed his task, and there was exposed to view a wonderful picture, centuries old—a picture, mellow and golden in tone, representing the Madonna and Child, and signed by the famous Italian artist Giovanni Bellini.