"Of course not," he answered plainly, "no sense in burning something worth saving, or something that actually does belong in a museum. So just the ones you had painted were burned." He stood again, walking over to where she was. He was careful to duck when it came to the lower beams near the edges of the room, knowing where each was well by now. His forehead remembered. When Michel reached the paintings, he flipped through them himself.
Though it wasn't a large collection by any means, he was rather proud of what he had gathered. He liked to think he had a good eye for these things, and even his taste wasted quite the same as others had. "Oh, and the family portraits. Those were burned, too."