nt, too, lost something of his reserve. From their talk I gathered
the notion of an eccentric personality, a man of great wealth, not so
much solitary as difficult of access, a collector of fine things, a
painter known only to very few people and not at all to the public
market. But as meantime I had been emptying my Venetian goblet with a
certain regularity (the amount of heat given out by that iron stove was
amazing; it parched one's throat, and the straw-coloured wine didn't seem
much stronger than so much pleasantly flavoured water) the voices and the
impressions they conveyed acquired something fantastic to my mind.
Suddenly I perceived that Mills was sitting in his shirt-sleeves. I had
not noticed him taking off his coat. Blunt had unbuttoned his shabby
jacket, exposing a lot of starched shirt-front with the white tie under
his dark shaved chin. He had a strange air of insolence--or so it seemed
to me. I addressed him much louder than I intended really.

"Did you know that extraordinary man?"

"To know him personally one had to be either very distinguished or very
lucky. Mr. Mills here . . ."

"Yes, I have been lucky," Mills struck in. "It was my cousin who was
distinguished. That's how I managed to enter his house in Paris--it was
called the Pavilion--twice."

"And saw Dona Rita twice, too?" asked Blunt with an indefinite smile and
a marked emphasis. Mills was also emphatic in his reply but with a
serious face.

"I am not an easy enthusiast where women are concerned, but she was
without doubt the most admirable find of his amongst all the priceless
items he had accumulated in that house--the most admirable. . . "

"Ah! But, you see, of all the objects there she was the only one that
was alive," pointed out Blunt with the slightest possible flavour of
sarcasm.

"Immensely so," affirmed Mills. "Not because she was restless, indeed
she hardly ever moved from that couch between the windows--you know."

"No. I don't know. I've never been in there," announced Blunt with that
flash of white teeth so strangely without any character of its own that
it was merely disturbing.

"But she radiated life," continued Mills. "She had plenty of it, and it
had a quality. My cousin and Henry Allegre had a lot to say to each
other and so I was free to talk to her. At the second visit we were like
old friends, which was absurd considering that all the chances were that
we would never meet again in this world