He was with two or
three friends who hung upon the words which he accompanied by the most
graceful, spirited, yet unconscious gestures. Old he may have been as
years go, but the fire of eternal youth was in his vivid dark eyes, and
his smile, which had in it the tenderness of great experience, of long
years lived in sympathy and love for mankind. His head was very noble;
and its shape, and the way he had of carrying it, would alone have shown
that he was Someone.
"Who is that man?" I whispered to Jack Dane. "That one who is so
different from all the others."
"Can't you guess?" he asked.
"Not Mistral?"
"Yes. It's one of his days here. He'll be in the museum after lunch.
I'll take you there, and if he sees that you're interested in things,
he'll talk to you."
"Oh, how glorious!" I breathed, quite awed at the prospect. "But if he
should find out that we're only lady's-maid and chauffeur?"
"Do you think it would matter to him _who_ we were--a great genius like
that? He wouldn't care if we were beggars, if we had souls and brains
and hearts."
"Well, we have got _some_ of those things," I said.
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