Presently the violinist recalled
what he termed a "charming idyll of Normandy."
"There is one poor fool in the world," he said, shrugging his
slight shoulders, "who never knew how badly he should hate me.
Ha! ha! of him I shall tell you. Do you remember, my friends,
some few years ago, a picture that was published in Paris and
London? Everybody bought it; everybody said: 'He is a made man,
this fellow who can paint so fine.'"
"To what picture do you refer?" asked Dr. Kreener.
"It was called 'A Dream at Dawn.'"
As he spoke the words I saw Andrews start forward, and Dr.
Kreener exchanged a swift glance with him. But the Scotsman,
unseen by the vainglorious half-caste, shook his head fiercely.
The picture to which Tcheriapin referred will, of course, be
perfectly familiar to you. It had phenomenal popularity some
eight years ago. Nothing was known of the painter--whose name
was Colquhoun--and nothing has been seen of his work since. The
original painting was never sold, and after a time this promising
new artist was, of course, forgotten.
Presently Tcheriapin continued:
"It is the figure of a slender girl--ah! angels of grace!--what
a girl!" He kissed his hand rapturously. "She is posed bending
gracefully forward, and looking down at her own lovely reflection
in the water.
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