Here he stored his valuable pictures, his rare china, his costly antiques. His gardens were the best laid-out in England, his rock walk was not to be equalled in the kingdom, his hot-houses were the pride of the county. Everything that money could purchase was his, not from a mere common love of display, but that he would have everything of the best--cellars stocked with the finest wines, cabinets filled with the most choice cigars. A week-end with Salmoros was to the _bon viveur_ a period of ecstasy. Everything in that well-appointed _ménage_ was perfect. Even Nada, accustomed to the splendours of the Zouroff Palace, was a little overwhelmed by the stately magnificence of the great financier. Corsini, of humble extraction, was fairly dazzled by it. "We seem to walk on velvet, darling, don't we?" he whispered to his wife as they went down the great staircase. "If we could only have a little music, we might think we were in Paradise." But the Baron had provided for that. There were no other guests during the week-end. With the whim of an old man he had wanted to have them to himself. During the perfect dinner, prepared by a _chef_ to whom he paid an enormous salary, a small orchestra played some exquisite music, so softly rendered that it did not interfere with conversation. Salmoros thought out all these things with the true spirit of the artist--the artist with perhaps, in his complex spirit, a little of the Oriental. Nada was enchanted. What seemed barbarous in Russia was here touched with refinement, a different thing altogether. What a wonderful old man he was! And Corsini was equally delighted, with his artistic appreciation of all that was beautiful and refined. The gaudy splendours of the Winter Palace were vulgar compared to this perfect setting--and only for a party of three--the exquisite glass and silver, the snowy napery, the well-trained service, the full but subdued light, and that orchestra in the gallery of the vast dining-room rendering that beautiful, but not obtrusive, music, every member of the small band an artist. The long meal was ended. Salmoros rose. "Come into my favourite sitting-room," he said. "We can smoke there in comfort, and Madame can have a cigarette." He led the way into a cosy chamber, furnished in the most exquisite taste. Easy, comfortable chairs abounded. Salmoros presented a cigarette to the Princess and offered Corsini one of his choicest cigars. There was a little period of silence, and then the Baron turned to Corsini. "Have you brought your violin with you, Nello?" "I never travel without it, sir," replied the young man. "Ah, then, when we have had our smoke, perhaps you will humour an old man's whim. Will you play for me that lovely little romance which was always your encore? There is a piano in yonder corner. Perhaps your wife, who is a musician, will accompany you. If not, I will do my best."