“He is poetical,” the young lady said to herself; “he sees millions in the things.  A poet is a man that cannot count and leaves his wife to look after his money—­an easy man to manage and amuse with trifles.”

Every pane in the two windows was a square of Swiss painted glass; the least of them was worth a thousand francs; and Pons possessed sixteen of these unrivaled works of art for which amateurs seek so eagerly nowadays.  In 1815 the panes could be bought for six or ten francs apiece.  The value of the glorious collection of pictures, flawless great works, authentic, untouched since they left the master’s hands, could only be proved in the fiery furnace of a saleroom.  Not a picture but was set in a costly frame; there were frames of every kind —­Venetians, carved with heavy ornaments, like English plate of the present day; Romans, distinguishable among the others for a certain dash that artists call flafla; Spanish wreaths in bold relief; Flemings and Germans with quaint figures, tortoise-shell frames inlaid with copper and brass and mother-of-pearl and ivory; frames of ebony and boxwood in the styles of Louis Treize, Louis Quatorze, Louis Quinze, and Louis Seize—­in short, it was a unique collection of the finest models.  Pons, luckier than the art museums of Dresden and Vienna, possessed a frame by the famous Brustoloni—­the Michael Angelo of wood-carvers.

Mlle. de Marville naturally asked for explanations of each new curiosity, and was initiated into the mysteries of art by Brunner.  Her exclamations were so childish, she seemed so pleased to have the value and beauty of the paintings, carvings, or bronzes pointed out to her, that the German gradually thawed and looked quite young again, and both were led on further than they intended at this (purely accidental) first meeting.

The private view lasted for three hours.  Brunner offered his arm when Cecile went downstairs.  As they descended slowly and discreetly, Cecile, still talking fine art, wondered that M. Brunner should admire her cousin’s gimcracks so much.

“Do you really think that these things that we have just seen are worth a great deal of money?”

“Mademoiselle, if your cousin would sell his collection, I would give eight hundred thousand francs for it this evening, and I should not make a bad bargain.  The pictures alone would fetch more than that at a public sale.”

“Since you say so, I believe it,” returned she; “the things took up so much of your attention that it must be so.”

“On! mademoiselle!” protested Brunner.  “For all answer to your reproach, I will ask your mother’s permission to call, so that I may have the pleasure of seeing you again.”

“How clever she is, that ‘little girl’ of mine!” thought the Presidente, following closely upon her daughter’s heels.  Aloud she said, “With the greatest pleasure, monsieur.  I hope that you will come at dinner-time with our Cousin Pons.  The President will be delighted to make your acquaintance.—­Thank you, cousin.”