A sufferer from liver complaint nearly always takes momentary and
special dislikes to some person or thing, and concentrates all his
ill-humor upon the object. Pons imagined that some one had designs
upon his precious collection; the thought of guarding it became a
fixed idea with him; Schmucke was continually sent to see if any one
had stolen into the sanctuary.
"Your collection is fine enough to attract the attention of
_chineurs_," Remonencq answered astutely. "I am not much in the art
line myself; but you are supposed to be such a great connoisseur, sir,
that with my eyes shut--supposing, for instance, that you should need
money some time or other, for nothing costs so much as these
confounded illnesses; there was my sister now, when she would have got
better again just as well without. Doctors are rascals that take
advantage of your condition to--"
"Thank you, good-day, good-day," broke in Pons, eying the marine
store-dealer uneasily.
"I will go to the door with him, for fear he should touch something,"
La Cibot whispered to her patient.
"Yes, yes," answered the invalid, thanking her by a glance.
La Cibot shut the bedroom door behind her, and Pons' suspicions awoke
again at once.
She found Magus standing motionless before the four pictures. His
immobility, his admiration, can only be understood by other souls open
to ideal beauty, to the ineffable joy of beholding art made perfect;
such as these can stand for whole hours before the _Antiope_
--Correggio's masterpiece--before Leonardo's _Gioconda_, Titian's
_Mistress_, Andrea del Sarto's _Holy Family_, Domenichino's _Children
Among the Flowers_, Raphael's little cameo, or his _Portrait of an Old
Man_--Art's greatest masterpieces.
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