and wrath, he found the Count in his own bedroom. The doors had
been forced open, the floors stripped of carpet and the window frames of
curtains. Only the pieces of furniture broken in the first moments now
occupied their former places. The sleeping rooms had been stripped more
methodically, everything having been taken that was not required for
immediate use. Because the General with his suite had been lodging there
the night before, this apartment had escaped the arbitrary destruction.

The Count received him with the civility of a grandee who wishes to be
attentive to his guests. He could not consent that HERR Desnoyers--a
relative of a von Hartrott--whom he vaguely remembered having seen at
Court, should be staying in the Keeper's lodge. He must return to his
own room, occupying that bed, solemn as a catafalque with columns and
plumes, which had had the honor, a few hours before, of serving as the
resting-place of an illustrious General of the Empire.

"I myself prefer to sleep here," he added condescendingly. "This other
habitation accords better with my tastes."

While saying this, he was entering Dona Luisa's rooms, admiring its
Louis Quinze furniture of genuine value, with its dull golds and
tapestries mellowed by time. It was one of the most successful purchases
that Don Marcelo had made. The Count smiled with an artist's scorn as he
recalled the man who had superintended the official sacking.

"What an ass! . . . To think that he left this behind, supposing that it
was old and ugly!"

Then he looked the owner of the castle squarely in the face.

"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 patr