To make sure of Mr.Bayard, Richard's message read: "I have that report.

You were right." Mr.Bayard pored over the Hanway findings, and the further he read the more his satisfaction stood on tiptoe.

Conceive a gallery hung round with paintings that would baffle a Rubens and set a Murillo to biting the nail of envy! Have an orchestra polished to the last touch of execution, discoursing the divinest work of some highest priest of music.

Sentinel the scene with marbles that would have doubled the fame of a Praxiteles.

Now, with your stage set, invite to its sumptuous midst some amateur of all the arts whose senses were born for the beautiful.
Do what you will to endow your artist with contentment in perfection.
Fill his pockets with gold, give him wine of his fancy, have the woman he loves by his side, so surround him that the eye, the ear, the stomach, the heart, the pocket, or whatever is the soul of his soul may be appealed to and enthralled--this artist, with whom love is a religion, wine a cult, music a passion, and pictures are as dreams! When you have him thus fortunately established, this artist of yours--for you are not to forget he is none of mine--peruse his face.