gave the rest to worthy poor. The duquesa's
fifteen springtimes after she had shown them to Lanny. "They have their own kind of
immortality," she had said; and these words had been repeated to him by an old Polish woman
in a Mother Hubbard wrapper, then living in a tenement room on Sixth Avenue, New York,
with the elevated railroad trains roaring past the windows.
There were old masters worth seeing at Balincourt, and Lanny telephoned and made an
appointment to bring his wife and his friend. He motored them out on a day of delightful
sunshine, and the Knight Commander and Grand Officer received the party with every
evidence of cordiality. He had discovered that Lanny's wife was kind, and any lonely old man
appreciates the attentions of a beautiful young woman. He showed them his David and his
Fragonard, his Goya, his Ingres, and his Corots. These also had their kind of immortality, a
magical power to awaken life in the souls of those who looked at them. Zaharoff had told Lanny
that he was tired of them, but now it appeared that the fires of the young people's appreciation
warmed up the dead ashes of his own.
The Hungarian expert never failed to have something worth while to say about a painting,
and Zaharoff didn't fail to recognize that what he said was right; they talked about prices,
which were of interest to them both, and important to Zoltan—one never knew what might
come of such a contact. Lanny said: "This is the man who has taught me most of what I know
about art." Zoltan, flushing with pleasure, replied: "This from the stepson of Marcel Detaze!"
They talked about that painter, of whom Zaharoff had heard. He asked questions, and in his
mind the seed of an idea fell and began to germinate. Perhaps this was a way to get more of
Madame Zyszynski's time! Buy a Detaze!
Tea was served on the terrace in front of the chateau. A beautiful view of formal gardens and
distant forest, and when Lanny commented on it, Zaharoff said: "My wife chose this place and
I bought it from King Leopold of Belgium."
He didn't go any further, but Lanny knew the story, and on the drive back to Paris entertained
his passengers with the scabrous details. The King of the Belgians, a tall, magnificent personage
wearing a great square-cut white beard, had been wont to roam the highways and byways of
Paris in search of likely pieces of female flesh. The sixty-five-year-old monarch had chanced upon
the sixteen-year-old sister of one of the famous
procuress to buy her; he had taken her to live in Hungary for a while, had fallen madly in love
with her and brought her back to Paris, and purchased this splendid chateau for her home. He
hadn't been content with it, but had insisted upon remodeling a great part, tearing out the
ceiling of his lady's bedroom and making it two stories tall, like a church. The four windows
facing the bed had draperies which had cost twenty thousand francs; the coverlet of English
point lace had cost a hundred and ten thousand—the pre-war kind of francs! Her bathroom was of
massive porphyry and her tub of silver; in the basement was a swimming-pool of gold mosaic.
Lanny, who had never had a bath here, wondered if the very proper Duquesa Marqueni had
retained these Byzantine splendors.
VII
Another of the homes which the trio visited was the town house of the Duс de Belleaumont, a
member of the old French nobility who had married a cattle-king's daughter from the
Argentine and so was able to live in the state of his forefathers. The palace stood on a corner near
the Parc Monceau, and had an impressive white marble exterior and about thirty rooms, many of
them spacious. It was decorated with that splendor which the French have cultivated through
centuries. Every piece of furniture, every tapestry and statue and vase was worthy of separate
study. A crystal cross set with sixteenth-century gold-enamel reliquaries, an inlaid Louis Seize
writing cabinet, a set of translucent azure ginger jars from ancient China—such things moved
Zoltan Kertezsi to raptures. The total effect was somewhat like a museum, but this does not trouble
anyone in France, and has been known to occur on Long Island, too.
The family was away, and the furniture was under dust-covers, but Zoltan knew the caretaker,
who, being sure of a generous tip, exhibited anything in which they expressed interest. The idea
occurred to Irma that the depression might have affected the market for Argentine beef, and
she inquired whether the place could be rented; the reply was that Madame should consult
the agent of M. le Duc. Irma did so, and learned that a properly accredited family might lease
the residence for the sum of a million francs per year.
"Why, Lanny, that's nothing!" exclaimed Irma. "Less than forty thousand dollars."
"But what on earth would you do with it?"
"Wouldn't you like to live in Paris and be able to entertain your friends?"
"But you've got one white elephant on your hands already!"
