"
He ran his fingers up and down the graceful legs, carefully feeling
every inequality of the elaborate bronze ornamentation. Particularly
did his fingers linger on every boss and point, striving to push it
in or move it up or down; but they were all immovable. Then he
examined the bottom of the table minutely, using his torch to
illumine every crevice; but again without result.
Another half hour passed so, and when at last he came out from under
the table, his face was dripping with sweat.
"It's trying work," he said, sitting down again and mopping his face.
"But isn't it a beauty, Lester? The more I look at it, the more
wonderful it seems."
"I told Philip Vantine I wasn't up to it, and I'm not," I said.
"Nor I, but I can appreciate it to the extent of my capacity. It's
the Louis Fourteenth ideal of beauty--splendour carried to the nth
degree. Look at the arabesques along the front--can you imagine
anything more graceful? And the engraving--nothing cut-and-dried
about that. It was done by a burin in the hands of a master--perhaps
by Boule himself. I don't wonder Vantine was rather mad about it. But
we haven't found that drawer yet," and he drew his chair close to the
cabinet.
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