er to share in
the exuberance of his learned enthusiasm.

"Jeanne, look at this; crowned head of Cleopatra, Mark Antony on the
reverse; in perfect condition, isn't it? See, an Italian 'as-Iguvium
Umbriae', which my friend Pousselot has sought these thirty years! Oh,
my dear, this is important: Annius Verus on the reverse of Commodus,
both as children, a rare example--yet not as rare as--Jeanne, you must
engrave this gold medal in your heart, it is priceless: head of Augustus
with laurel, Diana walking on the reverse. You ought to take an interest
in her. Diana the fair huntress.

"This collection is heavenly! Wait a minute; we shall soon come to the
Annia Faustina."

Jeanne made no objection, but smiled softly upon the Cleopatra, the
Umbrian 'as', and the fair huntress.

Little by little her father's enthusiasm expanded over the vast
collection of treasures. He took out his pocketbook and began to make
notes. Jeanne raised her eyes to the walls, took one glance, then a
second, and, not being called back to the medals, stepped softly up to
the picture at which I had begun.

She went quickly from one to another having evidently no more than a
child's untutored taste for pictures. As I, on the contrary, was getting
on very slowly, she was bound to overtake me. You may be sure I took no
steps to prevent it, and so in a very short time we were both standing
before the same picture, a portrait of Holbein the younger. A subject of
conversation was ready to hand.

"Mademoiselle," said I, "do you like this Holbein?"

"You must admit, sir, that the old gentleman is exceedingly plain."

"Yes, but the painting is exquisite. See how powerful is the drawing
of the head, how clear and deep the colors remain after more than three
hundred years. What a good likeness it must have been! The subject tells
his own story: he must have been a nobleman of the court of Henry VIII,
a Protestant in favor with the King, wily but illiterate, and wishing
from the bottom of his heart that he were back with the companions of
his youth at home in his country house, hunting and drinking at his
ease. It is really the study of a man's character. Look at this Rubens
beside it, a mere mass of flesh scarcely held together by a spirit, a
style that is exuberantly material, all color and no expression.
Here you have spirituality on one side and materialism on the other,
unconscious, perhaps, but unmistakable. Compare, again, with these two
pictures t