He, also, would paint souls . . . souls of
women.
In spite of the ease with which he developed his psychological
creations, Argensola preferred to talk, stretched on a divan, or to
read, hugging the fire while his friend and protector was outside.
Another advantage this fondness for reading gave young Desnoyers was
that he was no longer obliged to open a volume, scanning the index and
last pages "just to get the idea." Formerly when frequenting society
functions, he had been guilty of coolly asking an author which was his
best book--his smile of a clever man--giving the writer to understand
that he merely enquired so as not to waste time on the other volumes.
Now it was no longer necessary to do this; Argensola would read for him.
As soon as Julio would see him absorbed in a book, he would demand an
immediate share: "Tell me the story." So the "secretary," not only gave
him the plots of comedies and novels, but also detailed the argument of
Schopenhauer or of Nietzsche . . . Dona Luisa almost wept on hearing her
visitors--with that benevolence which wealth always inspires--speak of
her son as "a rather gay young man, but wonderfully well read!"
In exchange for his lessons, Argensola received, much the same treatment
as did the Greek slaves who taught rhetoric to the young patricians of
decadent Rome. In the midst of a dissertation, his lord and friend would
interrupt him with--"Get my dress suit ready.
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