out of the difficulty by renewing the pressure of his legs.
They reached the little lonely station. The train came in, and a quarter of an hour later they were in Cherbourg.
M. Des Boys at once announced his intention of going to see the museum. He wanted to look at a few masterpieces, he said, so that he might once more compare his own art with that of the great men. M. Hervart protested. For him, a holiday consisted in getting away from museums. Furthermore, he regarded this particular collection, with its list of great names, as being in large part apocryphal.
"If the catalogue of the Louvre is false, as it is, what must the catalogue of the Cherbourg museum be like?" he asked.
M. Des Boys shrugged his shoulders:
"You have lost my esteem."
And he affirmed the perfect authenticity of the Van Dycks, Van Eycks, Chardins, Poussins, Murillos, Jordaenses, Ribeiras, Fra Angelicos, Cranachs, Pourbuses and Leonardos which adorned the town hall.
"There's no Raphael," said M. Hervart,
