He lived in rooms in the Temple.  They were comfortably, not luxuriously furnished; a great many French books—­French was the only modern language worth reading he used to say—­a few modern German etchings, a low Turkish divan, and some Egyptian antiquities, made up the furniture of his two sitting-rooms.  Above all things he despised Greek art; it was, he said decadent.  The Egyptians and the Germans were, in his opinion, the only people who knew anything about the plastic arts, whereas the only music he could endure was that of the modern French School.  Over his chimney-piece there was a large German landscape in oils, called “Im Walde”; it represented a wood at twilight in the autumn, and if you looked at it carefully and for a long time you saw that the objects depicted were meant to be trees from which the leaves were falling; but if you looked at the picture carelessly and from a distance, it looked like a man-of-war on a rough sea, for which it was frequently taken, much to Ferrol’s annoyance.

One day an artist friend of his presented him with a small Chinese god made of crystal; he put this on his chimney-piece.  It was on the evening of the day on which he received this gift that he dined, together with a friend named Sledge who had travelled much in Eastern countries, at his club.  After dinner they went to Ferrol’s rooms to smoke and to talk.  He wanted to show Sledge his antiquities, which consisted of three large Egyptian statuettes, a small green Egyptian god, and the Chinese idol which he had lately been given.  Sledge, who was a middle-aged, bearded man, frank and unconventional, examined the antiquities with care, pronounced them to be genuine, and singled out for special praise the crystal god.

“Your things are very good,” he said, “very good.  But don’t you really mind having all these things about you?”

“Why should I mind?” asked Ferrol.

“Well, you have travelled a good deal, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” said Ferrol, “I have travelled; I have been as far east as Nijni-Novgorod to see the Fair, and as far west as Lisbon.”

“I suppose,” said Sledge, “you were a long time in Greece and Italy?”

“No,” said Ferrol, “I have never been to Greece.  Greek art distresses me.  All classical art is a mistake and a superstition.”

“Talking of superstition,” said Sledge, “you have never been to the Far East, have you?”

“No,” Ferrol answered, “Egypt is Eastern enough for me, and cannot be bettered.”

“Well,” said Sledge, “I have been in the Far East.  I have lived there many years.  I am not a superstitious man; but there is one thing I would not do in any circumstances whatsoever, and that is to keep in my sitting-room the things you have got there.”

“But why?” asked Ferrol.

“Well,” said Sledge, “nearly all of them have come from the tombs of the dead, and some of them are gods.  Such things may have attached to them heaven knows what spooks and spirits.”