which had served formerly as a workshop, where he designed and modelled
his figures, and, above all, read; he liked reading as if it were opium.

Pale-tinted Gothic tapestries, which let one perceive in a marvellous
forest a lady at the feet of whom a unicorn lay on the grass, extended
above cabinets to the painted beams of the ceiling. He led her to a large
and low divan, loaded with cushions covered with sumptuous fragments of
Spanish and Byzantine cloaks; but she sat in an armchair. "You are here!
You are here! The world may come to an end."

She replied "Formerly I thought of the end of the world, but I was not
afraid of it. Monsieur Lagrange had promised it to me, and I was waiting
for it. When I did not know you, I felt so lonely." She looked at the
tables loaded with vases and statuettes, the tapestries, the confused and
splendid mass of weapons, the animals, the marbles, the paintings, the
ancient books. "You have beautiful things."

"Most of them come from my father, who lived in the golden age of
collectors. These histories of the unicorn, the complete series of which
is at Cluny, were found by my father in 1851 in an inn."

But, curious and disappointed, she said: "I see nothing that you have
done; not a statue, not one of those wax figures which are prized so
highly in England, not a figurine nor a plaque nor a medal."

"If you think I could find any pleasure in living among my works! I know
my figures too well--they weary me. Whatever is without secret lacks
charm." She looked at him with affected spite.

"You had not told me that one had lost all charm when one had no more