to be found in the abode of the busts and spheres, on the edge of the table where the books were piled. The photographer took several negatives of this imprint.
“This is more terrifying than anything else,” murmured Monsieur Sariette.
Monsieur des Aubels did not hide his surprise.
Three days later the anthropometrical department of the Prefecture returned the proofs exhibited to them, saying that they were not in the records.
After dinner Monsieur René showed the photographs to his brother Gaétan, who examined them with profound attention, and after a long silence exclaimed:
“No wonder they have not got this at the Prefecture; it is the foot of a god or of an athlete of antiquity. The sole that made this impression is of a perfection unknown to our races and our climates. It exhibits toes of exquisite grace, and a divine heel.”
René d’Esparvieu cried out upon his brother for a madman.
“He is a poet,” sighed Madame d’Esparvieu.
“Uncle,” said Maurice, “you’ll fall in love with this foot if you ever come across it.”
“Such was the fate of Vivant Denon, who accompanied Bonaparte to Egypt,” replied Gaétan.
