They did not view it at all.

This was a shock; and yet to have in Annette a virgin taste to form would be better than to have the silly, half-baked predilections of the English middle-class to deal with.
At the end of the gallery was a Meissonier of which he was rather ashamed--Meissonier was so steadily going down.

Madame Lamotte stopped before it.
"Meissonier! Ah! What a jewel!" Soames took advantage of that moment.
Very gently touching Annette's arm, he said: "How do you like my place, Annette ?" She did not shrink, did not respond; she looked at him full, looked down, and murmured: "Who would not like it?
It is so beautiful!" "Perhaps some day--" Soames said, and stopped.
So pretty she was, so self-possessed--she frightened him.

Those cornflower-blue eyes, the turn of that creamy neck, her delicate curves--she was a standing temptation to indiscretion! No! No! One must be sure of one's ground--much surer! 'If I hold off,' he thought, 'it will tantalise her.' And he crossed over to Madame Lamotte, who was still in front of the Meissonier.
"Yes, that's quite a good example of his later work.

You must come again, Madame, and see them lighted up.