onizing 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. The warrior
fondled with delight the fine silky folds of the materials, gloating
over their cool softness.

This contact made him think of Paris, of the fashions, of the
establishments of the great modistes. The rue de la Paix was the spot
which he most admired in his visits to the enemy's city.

Don Marcelo noticed the strong mixture of perfumes which came from
his hair, his moustache, his entire body. Various little jars from the
dressing table were on the mantel.

"What a filthy thing war is!" exclaimed the German. "This morning I was
at last able to take a bath after a week's abstinence; at noon I shall
take another. By the way, my dear sir, these perfumes are good, but
they are not elegant. When I have the pleasure of being presented to the
ladies, I shall give them the addresses of my source of supply. . . . I
use in my home essences from Turkey. I have many friends there. . . . At
the close of the war, I will send a consignment to the family."

While speaking the Count's eyes had been fixed upon some photographs
upon the table. Examining the portrait of Madame Desnoyers, he
guessed that she must be Dona Luisa. He smiled before the bewitchingly
mischievous face of Mademoiselle Chichi. Very enchanting; he specially
admired her militant, boyish expression; but he scrutinized the
photograph of Julio with special interest.

"Splendid type of youth," he murmured. "An interesting head, and
artistic, too. He would create a great sensation in a fancy-dress ball.
What a Persian prince he would make! . . . A white aigrette on his head,
fastened with a great jewel, the breast bared, a black tunic with golden
birds. . . ."

And he continued seeing in his mind's eye the heir of the Desnoyers
arrayed in all the gorgeous raiment of an Oriental monarch. The proud
father, because of the interest which his son was inspiring, began to
feel a glimmer of sympathy with the m