"Monsieur Desnoyers, I do not believe that I am committing any
indiscretion, and even imagine that I am interpreting your desires when
I inform you that I intend taking this set of furniture with me. It will
serve as a souvenir of our acquaintance, a testimony to the friendship
springing up between us. . . . If it remains here, it will run the risk
of being destroyed. Warriors, of course, are not obliged to be artists.
I will guard these excellent treasures in Germany where you may see them
whenever you wish. We are all going to be one nation, you know. . . . My
friend, the Emperor, is soon to be proclaimed sovereign of the French."
Desnoyers remained silent. How could he reply to that look of cruel
irony, to the grimace with which the noble lord was underscoring his
words? . . .
"When the war is ended, I will send you a gift from Berlin," he added in
a patronizing tone.
The old collector could say nothing to that, either. He was looking
at the vacant spots which many small pictures had left on the walls,
paintings by famous masters of the XVIII century. The banded brigand
must also have passed these by as too insignificant to carry off,
but the smirk illuminating the Count's face revealed their ultimate
destination.
He had carefully scrutinized the entire apartment--the adjoining
bedroom, Chichi's, the bathroom, even the feminine robe-room of the
family, which still contained some of the daughter's gowns.
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