It was
strangely changed. On the walls were tapestry, a few
good etchings, and some amazing pictures--a Rousseau, a
Corot, a really superb old Crome, a Whistler, and a
piece which my host claimed (and I believe) to be a
Titian. The room was furnished with comfortable
English smoking-room chairs, some American rockers, and
an elaborate business table; spirits and soda-water
(with the mark of Schweppe, no less) stood ready on a
butler's tray, and in one corner, behind a half-drawn
curtain, I spied a camp-bed and a capacious tub. Such
a room in Barbizon astonished the beholder, like the
glories of the cave of Monte Cristo.
"Now," said he, "we are quiet. Sit down, if you don't
mind, and tell me your story all through."
I did as he asked, beginning with the day when Jim
showed me the passage in the DAILY OCCIDENTAL, and
winding up with the stamp album and the Chailly
postmark. It was a long business; and Carthew made it
longer, for he was insatiable of details; and it had
struck midnight on the old eight-day clock in the
corner before I had made an end.
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