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diff --git a/2470-0.txt b/2470-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b3ef7a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/2470-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,7939 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Samuel Brohl & Company, by Victor Cherbuliez + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Samuel Brohl & Company + +Author: Victor Cherbuliez + +Release Date: March 28, 2006 [EBook #2470] +Last Updated: November 3, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAMUEL BROHL & COMPANY *** + + + + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers + + + + + +SAMUEL BROHL & COMPANY + +By Victor Cherbuliez + + + + +CHAPTER I + +Were the events of this nether sphere governed by the calculus of +probabilities, Count Abel Larinski and Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz would +almost unquestionably have arrived at the end of their respective +careers without ever having met. Count Larinski lived in Vienna, +Austria; Mlle. Moriaz never had been farther from Paris than Cormeilles, +where she went every spring to remain throughout the fine weather. +Neither at Cormeilles nor at Paris had she ever heard of Count Larinski; +and he, on his part, was wholly unaware of the existence of Mlle. +Moriaz. His mind was occupied with a gun of his own invention, which +should have made his fortune, and which had not made it. He had hoped +that this warlike weapon, a true _chef-d’oeuvre_, in his opinion +superior in precision and range to any other known, would be +appreciated, according to its merits, by competent judges, and would +one day be adopted for the equipment of the entire Austro-Hungarian +infantry. By means of unremitting perseverance, he had succeeded in +obtaining the appointment of an official commission to examine it. +The commission decided that the Larinski musket possessed certain +advantages, but that it had three defects: it was too heavy, the breech +became choked too rapidly with oil from the lubricator, and the cost +of manufacture was too high. Count Abel did not lose courage. He +gave himself up to study, devoted nearly two years to perfecting his +invention, and applied all his increased skill to rendering his gun +lighter and less costly. When put under test, the new firearm burst, and +this vexatious incident ruined forever the reputation of the Larinski +gun. Far from becoming enriched, the inventor had sunk his expenses, his +advances of every kind; he had recklessly squandered both revenue and +capital, which, to be sure, was not very considerable. + +Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz had a more fortunate destiny than Count +Larinski. She did not plume herself on having invented a new gun, nor +did she depend upon her ingenuity for a livelihood; she had inherited +from her mother a yearly income of about a hundred thousand livres, +which enabled her to enjoy life and make others happy, for she was very +charitable. She loved the world without loving it too much; she knew how +to do without it, having abundant resources within herself, and being of +a very independent disposition. During the winter she went out a great +deal into society, and received freely at home. Her father, member of +the Institute and Professor of Chemistry at the College of France, was +one of those _savants_ who enjoy dining out; he had a taste also for +music and for the theatre. Antoinette accompanied him everywhere; they +scarcely ever remained at home except upon their reception evenings; but +with the return of the swallows it was a pleasure to Mlle. Moriaz to +fly to Cormeilles and there pass seven months, reduced to the society of +Mlle. Moiseney, who, after having been her instructress, had become +her _demoiselle de compagnie_. She lived pretty much in the open air, +walking about in the woods, reading, or painting; and the woods, her +books, and her paint-brushes, to say nothing of her poor people, so +agreeably occupied her time that she never experienced a quarter of an +hour’s _ennui_. She was too content with her lot to have the slightest +inclination to change it; therefore she was in no hurry to marry. She +had completed twenty-four years of her existence, had refused several +desirable offers, and wished nothing better than to retain her +maidenhood. It was the sole article concerning which this heiress had +discussions with those around her. When her father took it into his +head to grow angry and cry, “You must!” she would burst out laughing; +whereupon he would laugh also, and say: “I’m not the master here; in +fact, I am placed in the position of a ploughman arguing with a priest.” + +It is very dangerous to tax one’s brains too much when one dines out +frequently. During the winter of 1875, M. Moriaz had undertaken an +excess of work; he was overdriven, and his health suffered. He was +attacked by one of those anemic disorders of which we hear so much +nowadays, and which may be called _la maladie a la mode_. He was obliged +to break in upon his daily routine, employ an assistant, and early in +July his physician ordered him to set out for Engadine, and try the +chalybeate water-cure at Saint Moritz. The trip from Paris to Saint +Moritz cannot be made without passing through Chur. It was at Chur that +Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz, who accompanied her father, met for the first +time Count Abel Larinski. When the decree of Destiny goes forth, the +spider and the fly must inevitably meet. + +Abel Larinski had arrived at Chur from Vienna, having taken the route +through Milan and across the Splugen Pass. Although he was very short of +funds, upon reaching the capital of the canton of Grisons he had put up +at the Hotel Steinbock, the best and most expensive in the place. It was +his opinion that he owed this mark of respect to Count Larinski; such +duties he held to be very sacred, and he fulfilled them religiously. He +was in a very melancholy mood, and set out for a promenade in order to +divert his mind. In crossing the Plessur Bridge, he fixed his troubled +eyes on the muddy waters of the stream, and he felt almost tempted +to take the fatal leap; but in such a project there is considerable +distance between the dream and its fulfilment, and Count Larinski +experienced at this juncture that the most melancholy man in the world +may find it difficult to conquer his passion for living. + +He had no reason to feel very cheerful. He had quitted Vienna in +order to betake himself to the Saxon Casino, where _roulette_ and +_trente-et-quarante_ are played. His ill-luck would have it that he +stopped on the way at Milan, and fell in with a circle of ill repute, +where this most imprudent of men played and lost. There remained to him +just enough cash to carry him to Saxon; but what can be accomplished in +a casino when one has empty pockets? Before crossing the Splugen he had +written to a petty Jew banker of his acquaintance for money. He counted +but little on the compliance of this Hebrew, and this was why he paused +five minutes to contemplate the Plessur, after which he retraced his +steps. Twenty minutes later he was crossing a public square, ornamented +with a pretty Gothic fountain, and seeing before him a cathedral, he +hastened to enter it. + +The cathedral of Chur possesses, among other curiosities, a painting by +Albert Durer, a St. Lawrence on the gridiron, attributed to Holbein, a +piece of the true cross, and some relics of St. Lucius and his sister +Ernesta. Count Abel only accorded a wandering attention to either St. +Lucius or St. Lawrence. Scarcely had he made his way into the nave of +the building, when he beheld something that appeared to him far more +interesting than paintings or relics. An English poet has said that at +times there is revealed to us a glimpse of paradise in a woman’s face, +and it was such a rare blessing that was at this moment vouchsafed unto +Count Larinski. He was not a romantic man, and yet he remained for +some moments motionless, rooted to the spot in admiration. Was it a +premonition of his destiny? The fact is that, in beholding for the first +time Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz, for it was none other than she who thus +riveted his attention, he experienced an inexplicable surprise, a +thrilling of the heart, such as he never before had experienced. In his +first impression of this charming girl he made one slight mistake. He +divined at once that the man by whom she was accompanied, who had gray +hair, a broad, open brow, vivacious eyes, shaded by beautiful, heavy +eye-brows, belonged to some learned fraternity; but he imagined that +this individual with a white cravat, who had evidently preserved his +freshness of heart, although past sixty years of age, was the fortunate +suitor of the beautiful girl by his side. + +There are some women whom it is impossible not to gaze upon. Wherever +Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz appeared she was the object of universal +observation: first, because she was charming; and, then, because she +had a way of her own of dressing and of arranging her hair, a peculiar +movement of the head, a grace of carriage, which inevitably must attract +notice. There were those who made so bold as to assert that she assumed +certain little peculiarities solely for the purpose of attracting +the chance observer. Do not believe a word of it. She was altogether +indifferent to public opinion and consulted her own taste alone, which +was certainly impregnated with a touch of audacity; but she did not seek +to appear audacious--she merely acted according to her natural bent. +Observing her from a distance, people were apt to fancy her affected, +and somewhat inclined to be fantastic; but on approaching her, +their minds were speedily disabused of this fancy. The purity of her +countenance, her air of refinement and thorough modesty, speedily +dispelled any suspicious thoughts, and those who had for a moment +harboured them would say mentally, “Pardon me, mademoiselle, I mistook.” + Such, at least, was the mental comment of Count Abel, as she passed +close by him on leaving the church. Her father was telling her something +that made her smile; this smile was that of a young girl just budding +into womanhood, who has nothing yet to conceal from her guardian angel. +Count Larinski left the church after her, and followed her with his eyes +as she crossed the square. On returning to the hotel he had a curiosity +to satisfy. He questioned one of the _garcons_, who pointed out to him +in the hotel register for travellers the following entry: “M. Moriaz, +member of the Institute of France, and his daughter, from Paris, _en +route_ for Saint Moritz.” “And where then?” he asked himself; then +dismissed the subject from his mind. + +When he had dined, he repaired to the post-office to inquire for a +letter he was expecting from Vienna. He found it, and returned to +shut himself up in his chamber, where he tore open the envelope with a +feverish hand. This letter, written in a more peculiar than felicitous +French, was the reply of the Jew banker. It read as follows: + +“M. LE COMTE: + +“Although you both write and understand German very well, you do not +like to read it, and therefore I write to you in French. It grieves +me deeply not to have it in my power to satisfy your honoured demand. +Business is very dull. It is impossible for me to advance you another +florin, or even to renew your note, which falls due shortly. I am the +father of a family; it pains me to be compelled to remind you of this. + +“I wish to tell you quite freely what I think. I did believe in your +gun, but I believe in it no longer, no one believes in it any more. When +strong, it was too heavy; when you made it lighter, it was no longer +strong. What came next? You know it burst. Beware how you further +perfect it, or it will explode whenever it becomes aware that any one +is looking at it. This accursed gun has eaten up the little you had, and +some of my savings besides, although I have confidence that you will, at +least, pay me the interest due on that. It grieves me to tell you so, M. +de Comte, but all inventors are more or less crack-brained, and end in +the hospital. For the love of God, leave guns as they are, and invent +nothing more, or you will go overboard, and there will be no one to fish +you out.” + +Abel Larinski paused at this place. He put his letter down on the table, +and, turning round in his arm-chair, with a savage air, his eye fixed +on a distant corner of the room, he fell to thus soliloquizing in a +sepulchral voice: + +“Do you hear, idiot? This old knave is right. Accursed be the day when +the genius of invention thrilled your sublime brain! A grand discovery +you have made, forsooth! What have I gained from it? Grand illusions, +grand discomfitures! What hath it availed me that I passed whole nights +discussing with you breech-loaders, screw-plates, tumbrels, sockets, +bridges, ovoid balls, and spring-locks? What fruits have I gained from +these refreshing conversations? You foresaw everything, my great man, +except that one little thing which great men so often fail to see, that +mysterious something, I know not what, which makes success. When you +spoke to me, in your slow, monotonous tones, when you fixed upon me your +melancholy gaze, I should have been able to read in your eyes that you +were only a fool. The devil take thee and thy gun, thy gun and thee; +hollow head, head full of chimeras, true Pole, true Larinski!” + +To whom was Count Abel speaking? To a phantom? To his double? He alone +knew. When he had uttered the last words, he resumed the perusal of his +letter, which ended thus: + +“Will you permit me to give you a piece of advice, M. le Comte, a good +little piece of advice? I have known you for three years, and have taken +much interest in your welfare. You invent guns, which, when they are +strong, lack lightness. I beg your pardon, but I do not comprehend you, +M. le Comte. The name you bear is excellent; the head you carry on your +shoulders is superb, and it is the general opinion that you resemble +_Faust_; but neither name nor head does you any good. Leave the guns as +they are, and bestow your attention upon women; they, and they alone, +can draw you out of the deep waters where you are now floundering. There +is no time to lose. I beg your pardon, but you must be thirty years +old, and perhaps a little more. This _diable_ of a gun has made you lose +three valuable years. + +“It pains me, M. le Comte, to be compelled to remind you that the little +note falls due shortly. I have had the value of the bracelet you left +with me as a pledge estimated; it is not worth a thousand florins, as +you believed; it is a piece of antiquity that has a value to only those +who can indulge in a caprice for fancy articles, and such caprices are +rare nowadays, the time for such is past. + +“I am, M. le Comte, with much respect, your humble and obedient servant, + +“MOSES GULDENTHAL.” + + +Abel Larinski turned once more in his chair. He crumpled up between his +fingers the letter of M. Moses Guldenthal, saying to himself as he did +so, that the Guldenthals are often very clear-sighted folks. “Ay, to +be sure,” thought he, “this Hebrew is right, I have lost three valuable +years. I have had fever, and my eyes have been clouded; but, Heaven +be praised! The charm is broken, the illusion fled, I am cured--saved! +Farewell, my chimera, I am no longer thy dupe! Many thanks, my dear +friend: I return to you your gun; do with it as it seemeth best to you.” + +His eyes suddenly fell on his own reflection in the mirror above the +chimney-piece, and he regarded it fixedly for a few moments. + +“The semblance truly of an inventor,” he resumed, mournfully smiling. +“This pale, emaciated face; these deep-set eyes, with dark circles about +them; these hollow, cadaverous cheeks! The three years have indeed left +their traces. Bah! a little rest in the Alpine pastures, and _Faust_ +will become rejuvenated.” + +He seized a pen, and wrote the following reply: + +“You are truly kind, my dear Guldenthal: you refuse me the miserable +florins, but you give me in their stead a little piece of advice that +is worth a fortune. Unluckily, I am not capable of following it. Noble +souls like ours comprehend each other with half a word, and you are +a poet whenever it suits you. When in the course of the day you have +transacted a neat little piece of business, after having rubbed your +hands until you have almost deprived them of skin, you tune your violin, +which you play like an angel, and you draw from it such delightful +strains that your ledger and your cash-box fall to weeping with emotion. +I, too, am a musician, and my music is the fair sex. But, alas! women +never can be for me other than an adorable inutility, a part of the +dream of my life. Your dreams yield you a handsome percentage, as I have +sorrowfully experienced; my dreams yield me nothing, and therefore it is +that they are dear to me. + +“I must prohibit--understand me clearly--your disposing of the trinket I +left with you; we have the weakness, we Poles, of clinging to our family +relics. Set your mind at rest; before the end of the month I shall have +returned to Vienna, and will honour the dear little note. One day you +will go down on your knees to beg of me to loan you a thousand florins, +and I will astonish you with my ingratitude. May the God of Abraham, of +Isaac, and of Jacob, have you in his holy keeping, my dear Guldenthal!” + +As he finished his letter, he heard the sound of harps and violins. Some +itinerant musicians were giving a concert in the hotel-garden, which +was lit up as bright as day. Abel opened his window, and leaned on his +elbows, looking out. The first object that presented itself to his eyes +was Mlle. Moriaz, promenading one of the long garden-walks, leaning on +her father’s arm. Many eyes were fixed on her--we have already said it +was difficult not to gaze upon her--but no one contemplated her with +such close attention as Count Larinski. He never once lost sight of her. + +“Is she beautiful? Is she even pretty?” he queried within himself. “I +cannot quite make up my mind, but I am very sure that she is charming. +Like my bracelet, this is a fancy article. She is a little thin, and her +shoulders are too vigorously fashioned for her waist, which is slender +and supple as a reed; but, such as she is, she has not her equal. Her +walk, her carriage, resemble nothing I ever have seen before. I can well +imagine that when she appears in the streets of Paris people turn to +look after her, but no one would have the audacity to follow her. How +old is she? Twenty-four or twenty-five years, I should say. Why is she +not married? Who is this withered, pinched-looking fright of a personage +who trots at her side like a poodle-dog? Probably some _demoiselle de +compagnie_. And there comes her _femme de chambre_, a very spruce little +lass, bringing her a shawl, which the _demoiselle de compagnie_ hastens +to put over her shoulders. She allows it to be done with the air of one +who is accustomed to being waited upon. Mlle. Moriaz is an heiress. Why, +then, is she not married?” + +Count Larinski pursued his soliloquy as long as Mlle. Moriaz promenaded +in the garden. As soon as she re-entered the hotel, it appeared to him +that the garden had become empty, and that the musicians were playing +out of tune. He closed his window. He gave up his plan of starting +the next day for Saxon. He had decided that he would set out for Saint +Moritz, to pass there at least two or three days. He said to himself, +“It seems absurd; but who can tell?” + +Thereupon he proceeded to investigate the state of his finances, and he +weighed and re-weighed his purse, which was very light. Formerly Count +Larinski had possessed a very pretty collection of jewellery. He had +looked upon this as a reserve fund, to which he would have recourse only +in cases of extreme distress. Alas! there remained to him now only two +articles of his once considerable store--the bracelet that was in the +hands of M. Guldenthal, and a diamond ring that he wore on his finger. +He decided that, before quitting Chur, he would borrow money on this +ring, or that he would try to sell it. + +He remained some time seated at the foot of his bed, dangling his legs +to and fro, his eyes closed. He had closed them, in order to better +call up a vision of Mlle. Moriaz, and he repeated the words: “It seems +absurd; but who can tell? The fact is, we can know nothing of a surety, +and anything may happen.” Then he recalled one of Goethe’s poems, +entitled “Vanitas! vanitatum vanitas!” and he recited several time in +German these two lines: + +“Nun hab’ ich mein’ Sach’ auf nichts gestellt, Und mein gehort die ganze +Welt!” + +This literally signifies, “Now that I no longer count on anything, the +whole world is mine.” Abel Larinski recited these lines with a purity of +accent that would have astonished M. Moses Guldenthal. + +M. Moriaz, after wishing his daughter good-night, and imprinting a kiss +upon her brow, as was his custom, had retired to his chamber. He was +preparing for bed, when there came a knock at his door. Opening this, +he saw before him a fair-haired youth, who rushed eagerly towards +him, seized both his hands, and pressed them with effusion. M. Moriaz +disengaged his hands, and regarded the intruder with a bewildered air. + +“How?” cried the latter. “You do not know me? So sure as you are one of +the most illustrious chemists of the day, I am Camille Langis, son of +your best friend, a young man of great expectations, who admires you +truly, who has followed you here, and who is now ready to begin all over +again. There, my dear master, do you recognise me?” + +“Ay, to be sure I recognise you, my boy,” replied M. Moriaz, “although, +to tell the truth, you have greatly changed. When you left us you were a +mere youth.” + +“And now?” + +“And now you have the air of a young man; but, I beg of you, where have +you come from? I thought you were in the heart of Transylvania.” + +“It is possible to return from there, as you see. Three days ago I +arrived in Paris and flew to Maisons-Lafitte. Mme. De Lorcy, who bears +the double insignia of honour of being my aunt and the godmother of +Antoinette--I beg your pardon, I mean Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz--informed +me that you were in ill-health, and that your physician had sent you +to Switzerland, to Saint Moritz, to recruit. I hastened after you; this +morning I missed you by one hour at Zurich; but I have you now, and you +will listen to me.” + +“I warn you, my dear child, that I am at this moment a most detestable +auditor. We have done to-day one _hotel de ville_, one episcopal palace, +one cathedral, and some relics of St. Lucius. To speak plainly, I am +overpowered with sleep. Is there any great haste for what you have to +say to me?” + +“Is there any great haste? Why, I arrive breathless from Hungary to +demand your daughter in marriage.” + +M. Moriaz threw up his arms; then, seating himself on the edge of his +bed, he piteously gasped: + +“You could not wait until to-morrow? If a judge is desired to take a +favourable view of a case, he surely should not be disturbed in his +first sleep to consider it.” + +“My dear master, I am truly distressed to be compelled to be +disagreeable to you, but it is absolutely necessary that you should +listen to me. Two years ago, for the first time, I asked of you your +daughter’s hand. After having consulted Antoinette--you will permit me +to call her Antoinette, will you not?--after having consulted her, you +told me that I was too young, that she would not listen seriously to my +proposal, and you gave me your permission to try again in two years. I +have employed these two mortal years in constructing a railroad and a +wire bridge in Hungary, and, believe me, I took infinite pains to forget +Antoinette. In vain! She is the romance of my youth, I never can have +another. On July 5, 1873, did you not tell me to return in two years? We +are now at July 5, 1875, and I return. Am I a punctual man?” + +“As punctual as insupportable,” rejoined M. Moriaz, casting a melancholy +look at his pillow. “Now, candidly, is it the thing to seek the presence +of the President of the Academy of Sciences between eleven o’clock and +midnight, to pour such silly stuff into his ear? You are wanting in +respect for the Institute. Besides, my dear boy, people change in two +years; you are a proof of it. You have developed from boyhood almost +into manhood, and you have done well to let your imperial grow; it gives +you quite a dashing military air--one would divine at first sight that +you were fresh from Hungary. But, while you have changed for the better, +are you sure that Antoinette has not changed for the worse? Are you sure +that she is still the Antoinette of your romance?” + +“I beg your pardon; I saw her just now, without her seeing me. She was +promenading on your arm in the hotel-garden, which was lit up in her +honour. Formerly she was enchanting, she has become adorable. If you +would have the immense goodness to give her to me, I would be capable of +doing anything agreeable to you. I would relieve you of all your little +troublesome jobs; I would clean your retorts; I would put labels on your +bottles and jars; I would sweep out your laboratory. I know German very +well--I would read all the large German books it might please you to +consult; I would read them, pen in hand; I would make extracts--written +extracts--and such extracts! _Grand Dieu!_ they would be like +copperplate. My dear master, will you give her to me?” + +“The absurd creature! He imagines that it only depends upon me to give +him my daughter. I could as easily dispose of the moon. Since she has +had teeth, she had made me desire everything she desires.” + +“At least you will give me permission to pay my addresses to her +to-morrow?” + +“Beware, unlucky youth!” cried M. Moriaz. “You will ruin your case +forever. Since you have been away she has refused two offers, one of +them from a second secretary of legation, Viscount de R---, and at the +present moment she holds in holy horror all suitors. She is accompanying +me to Saint Moritz in order to gather flowers and paint aquarelle +sketches of them. Should you presume to interrupt her in her favourite +occupations, should you present yourself before her like a creditor on +the day of maturity, I swear to you that your note would be protested, +and that you would have nothing better to do than return to Hungary.” + +“You are sure of it?” + +“As sure as that sulphuric acid will turn litmus red.” + +“And you have the heart to sent me back to Paris without having spoken +with her?” + +“What I have said is for your good, and you know whether I mean you well +or not.” + +“It is agreed, then, that you will take charge of my interests; that you +will plead my cause?” + +“It is understood that I will sound the premises, that I will prepare +the way--” + +“And that you will send me tidings shortly, and that these tidings will +be good. I shall await them here, at the Hotel Steinbock.” + +“As you please; but, for the love of Heaven, let me sleep!” + +M. Camille Langis pressed his two arms and said, with much emotion: “I +place myself in your hands; take care how you answer for my life!” + +“O youth!” murmured M. Moriaz, actually thrusting Camille from the room. +“One might search in vain for a more beautiful invention.” + +Ten hours later, a post-chaise bore in the direction of Engadine Mlle. +Antoinette Moriaz, her father, her _demoiselle de compagnie_, and +her _femme de chambre_. They breakfasted tolerably well in a village +situated in the lower portion of a notch, called Tiefenkasten, which +means, literally, _deep chest_, and certainly a deeper never has been +seen. After breakfast they pursued their way farther, and towards four +o’clock in the afternoon they reached the entrance of the savage defile +of Bergunerstein, which deserves to be compared with that of Via Mala. +The road lies between a wall of rocks and a precipice of nearly two +hundred metres, at the bottom of which rush the swift waters of the +Albula. This wild scenery deeply moved Mlle. Moriaz; she never had seen +anything like it at Cormeilles or anywhere about Paris. She alighted, +and, moving towards the parapet, leaned over it, contemplating at her +ease the depths below, which the foaming torrent beneath filled with its +roars. + +Her father speedily joined her. + +“Do you not find this music charming?” she asked of him. + +“Charming, I grant,” he replied; “but more charming still are those +brave workmen who, at the risk of their necks, have engineered such a +suspended highway as we see here. I think you admire the torrent too +much, and the road not enough.” And after a pause he added, “I wish +that our friend Camille Langis had had fewer dangers to contend with in +constructing his.” Antoinette turned quickly and looked at her father; +then she bestowed her attention once more upon the Albula. “To be sure,” + resumed M. Moriaz, stroking his whiskers with the head of his cane, +“Camille is just the man to make his way through difficulties. He has +a youthful air that is very deceptive, but he always has been +astonishingly precocious. At twenty years of age he became head of +his class at the Central School; but the best thing about him is that, +although in possession of a fortune, yet he has a passion for work. The +rich man who works accepts voluntary poverty.” + +There arose from the precipice a damp, chill breeze; Mlle. Moriaz drew +over her head a red hood that she held in her hand, and scraping off +with her finger some of the facing of the parapet, which glittered with +scales of mica, she asked: “What do you call this?” + +“It is gneiss, a sort of sheet-granite; but do not you too admire people +who work when they are not compelled to do anything?” + +“Then you must admire yourself a great deal.” + +“Oh, I! In my early youth I worked from necessity, and then I formed a +habit which I cannot now get rid of; while Camille Langis--” + +“Once more?” she ejaculated, with a gesture of impatience. “What prompts +you to speak to me of Camille?” + +“Nothing. I often think of him.” + +“Do not let us two play at diplomacy. You have had news of him lately?” + +“You just remind me that I have, through a letter from Mme. De Lorcy.” + +“Mme de Lorcy, my godmother, would do better to meddle with what +concerns her. That woman is incorrigible.” + +“Of what would you have her correct herself?” + +“Simply of her mania for making my happiness after her own fashion. +I read in your eyes that Camille has returned to Paris. What is his +object?” + +“I know nothing about it. How should I know? I only presume--that is, I +suppose----” + +“You do not suppose--you know.” + +“Not at all. At the same time, since hypothesis is the road which leads +to science, a road we _savants_ travel every day, I--” + +“You know very well,” she again interposed, “that I promised him +nothing.” + +“Strictly speaking, I admit; but you requested me to tell him that +you found him too young. He has laboured conscientiously since then to +correct that fault.” Then playfully pinching her cheeks, he added: “You +are a great girl for objections. Soon you will be twenty-five years +old, and you have refused five eligible offers. Have you taken a vow to +remain unmarried?” + +“Ah! you have no mercy,” she cried. “What! you cannot even spare me on +the Albula! You know that, of all subjects of conversation, I have most +antipathy for this.” + +“Come, come; you are slandering me now, my child. I spoke to you of +Camille as I might have spoken of the King of Prussia; and you rose in +arms at once, taking it wholly to yourself.” + +Antoinette was silent for some moments. + +“Decidedly, you are very fond of Camille,” she presently said. + +“Of all the sons-in-law you could propose to me----” + +“But I do not propose any.” + +“That is precisely what I find fault with.” + +“Very good; since you think so much of him, this Camille, suppose you +command me to marry him?” + +“If I were to command, would you obey?” + +“Perhaps, just for the curiosity of the thing,” she rejoined, laughing. + +“Naughty girl, to mock at her father!” said he. “If these twenty years +I have been in servitude, I can scarcely emancipate myself in a day. +However, since the great king deigns to hold parley with his ministers, +I am Pomponne--let us argue.” + +“Ah, well! you know as well as I that I have a real friendship for +Camille, as the playmate of my childhood. I remember him when he was +ever so small, and he remembers me, too, when I was a tiny creature. +We played hide-and-seek together, and he humoured me in my ten thousand +little caprices. Delightful reminiscences these, but unfortunately I +think of them too much when I see him.” + +“He has passed two years among the Magyars; two years is a good while.” + +“Bah! he could never possibly have any authority over me. I intend that +my husband shall be my government.” + +“So that you may have the pleasure of governing your government?” + +“Besides, I know Camille too well. I could only fall in love with a +stranger,” said she, heedless of the last sally. + +“Was not the Viscount R--- a stranger?” + +“At the end of five minutes I knew him by heart. He is precisely like +all other second secretaries of legation in the world. You may be sure +that there is not a single idea in his head that is really his own. Even +his figure does not belong to himself; it is the _chef-d’oeuvre_ of the +united efforts of his tailor and his shirt-maker.” + +“According to this, a prime requisite in the man whom you could love is +to be poorly clad.” + +“If ever my heart is touched, it will be because I have met a man who +is not like all the other men of my acquaintance. After that I will not +positively forbid him to have decent clothing.” + +M. Moriaz made a little gesture of impatience, and then set out to +regain the chaise, which was some distance in advance. When he +had proceeded about twenty steps, he paused, and, turning towards +Antoinette, who was engaged in readjusting her hood and rebuttoning her +twelve-button gloves, he said: + +“I have drawn an odd number in the great lottery of this world. In our +day there are no romantic girls; the last remaining one is mine.” + +“That is it; I am a romantic girl!” she cried, tossing her pretty, curly +head with an air of defiance; “and if you are wise you will not urge me +to marry, for I never shall make any but an ineligible match.” + +“Ah, speak lower!” he exclaimed, casting a hurried glance around him, +and adding: “Thank Heaven! there is no one here but the Albula to hear +you.” + +M. Moriaz mistook. Had he raised his eyes a little higher he would have +discovered, above the rock cornice bordering the highway, a foot-path, +and in this foot-path a pedestrian tourist, who had paused beneath a +fir-tree. This tourist had set out from Chur in the diligence. At the +entrance of the defile, leaving his luggage to continue without him to +Saint Moritz, he had alighted, and with his haversack on his back had +set forward on foot for Bergun, where he proposed passing the night, +as did also M. Moriaz. Of the conversation between Antoinette and her +father he had caught only one word. This word, however, sped like an +arrow into his ear, and from his ear into the innermost recesses of his +brain, where it long quivered. It was a treasure, this word; and he did +not cease to meditate upon it, to comment on it, to extract from it all +its essence, until he had reached the first houses of Bergun, like a +mendicant who has picked up in a dusty road a well-filled purse, and who +opens it, closes it, opens it again, counts his prize piece by piece, +and adds up its value twenty times over. Our tourist dined at the _table +d’hote_; he was so preoccupied that he ate the trout caught in the +Albula without suspecting that they possessed a marvellous freshness, an +exquisite flavour and delicacy, and yet it is notorious that the trout +of the Albula are the first trout of the universe. + +Mlle. Moiseney, the duties of whose office consisted in serving as +chaperon to Mlle. Moriaz, was not a great genius. This worthy and +excellent personage had, in fact, rather a circumscribed mind, and she +had not the least suspicion of it. Her physiognomy was not pleasing to +M. Moriaz; he had several times besought his daughter to part with her. +In the goodness of her soul Antoinette always refused; she was not one +who could countenance rebuffs to old domestics, old dogs, old horses, +or worn-out governesses. Young Candide arrived at the conclusion, as the +result of his observations, that the first degree of happiness would +be to be Mlle. Gunegonde, and the second to contemplate her throughout +life. Mlle. Moiseney believed that it would be the first degree of +superhuman felicity to be Mlle. Moriaz, the second to pass one’s life +near this queen, who, arbitrary and capricious though she might be, was +most thoughtful of the happiness of her subjects, and to be able to +say: “It was I that hatched the egg whence arose this phoenix; I did +something for this marvel; I taught her English and music.” She had +boundless admiration for her queen, amounting actually to idolatry. The +English profess that their sovereigns can do nothing amiss: “The king +can do no wrong.” Mlle. Moiseney was convinced that Mlle. Moriaz could +neither do wrong nor make mistakes about anything. She saw everything +with her eyes, espoused her likes and her dislikes, her sentiments, her +opinions, her rights, and her wrongs; she lived, as it were, a reflected +existence. Every morning she said to her idol, “How beautiful we are +to-day!” precisely as the bell-ringer who, puffing out his cheeks, +cried: “We are in voice; we have chanted vespers well to-day!” M. Moriaz +excused her for finding his daughter charming, but could not so +readily approve of her upholding Antoinette’s ideas, her decisions, +her prejudices. “This woman is no chaperon,” said he; “she is an +admiration-point!” He would have been very glad to have routed her from +the field, and to give her place to a person of good sound sense and +judgment, one who might gain some influence over Antoinette. It would +have greatly surprised Mlle. Moiseney had he represented to her that she +lacked good sense. This good creature flattered herself that she had an +inexhaustible stock of this commodity; she placed the highest estimate +on her own judgment; she believed herself to be well-nigh infallible. +She discoursed in the tone of an oracle on future contingencies; she +prided herself on being able to divine all things, to foresee all +things, to predict all things--in a word, to be in the secret of the +gods. As her Christian name was Joan, M. Moriaz, who set little store by +his calendar, sometimes called her Pope Joan, which wounded her deeply. + +Mlle. Moiseney had two weaknesses; she was a gormand, and she admired +handsome men. Let us understand the case: she knew perfectly well that +they were not created for her; that she had no attractions to offer +them; that they had nothing to give her. She admired them naively and +innocently, as a child might admire a beautiful Epinal engraving; she +would willingly have cut out their likenesses to hang on a nail on +her wall, and contemplate while rereading “Gonzalve de Cordue” and “Le +Dernier des Cavaliers,” her two favourite romances. At Bergun, +during the repast, her brain had been working, and she had made two +reflections. The first was, that the trout of Albula were incomparable, +the second that the stranger seated opposite her had a remarkably +handsome head, and was altogether a fine-looking man. Several times, +with fork halfway to mouth, and nose in the air, she had forgotten +herself in her scrutiny of him. + +Antoinette, rather weary, had retired early to her chamber. Mlle. +Moiseney repaired thither to see if she needed anything, and, as she was +about leaving her for the night, candle in hand, she suddenly inquired, +“Do not you think, as I do, that this stranger is a remarkable-looking +person?” + +“Of whom do you speak?” rejoined Antoinette. + +“Why, of the traveller who sat opposite me.” + +“I confess that I scarcely looked at him.” + +“Indeed! He has superb eyes, nearly green, with fawn-coloured tinting.” + +“Most astonishing! And his hair, is it green also?” + +“Chestnut brown, almost hazel.” + +“Pray be more exact; is it hazel or not?” + +“You need not laugh at me--his whole appearance is striking, his figure +singular, but full of character, full of expression, and as handsome as +singular.” + +“What enthusiasm! It seemed to me, so far as I noticed, that he was +inclined to stoop, and that his head was very badly poised.” + +“What do you say?” cried Mlle. Moiseney, greatly scandalized. “How came +you to think his head badly poised?” + +“There--there! Don’t let us quarrel about it; I am ready to retract. +Good-night, mademoiselle. Apropos, did you know that M. Camille Langis +had returned to Paris?” + +“I did not know it, but I am not surprised. I had surmised it; in fact, +I was quite sure that he would be back about this time, perfectly sure. +And, of course, you think he has returned with the intention--” + +“I think,” interrupted Antoinette, “that it costs me more to pain M. +Langis than any other man in the world. I think, also, that he possesses +most tiresome fidelity; it is always the way, one never loses one’s dog +when one wants to lose him; and I think, moreover, that a woman makes a +poor bargain when she marries a man for whom she feels friendship; for, +if she gains a husband, she is very sure to lose a friend.” + +“How true your words are!” exclaimed Mlle. Moiseney. “But you are always +right. Has M. Langis forgotten that you thought him too young--only +twenty-three?” + +“He has so little forgotten it that he has managed, I don’t know how, to +be at present twenty-five. How resist such a mark of affection? I shall +be compelled to marry him.” + +“That will never do. People do not marry for charity,” replied Mlle. +Moiseney, deprecatingly. + +“Adieu, my dear,” said Antoinette, dismissing her. “Do not dream too +much about your unknown charmer. I assure you he had a decided stoop +in his shoulders. However, that makes small difference; if your heart +speaks, I will see to arranging this affair for you.” And she added, +musingly, “How amusing it must be to marry other people!” + +The next morning Mlle. Moiseney made the acquaintance of her unknown +charmer. Before leaving Bergun Mlle. Moriaz wished to make a sketch, and +she had gone out early with her father. Mlle. Moiseney descended to +the hotel _salon_, and, espying a piano, she opened it and played a +_fantasia_ by Schumann; she was a tolerably good musician. When she had +finished, Count Abel Larinski, the man with green eyes, who had entered +the _salon_ without her hearing him, approached to thank her for the +pleasure he had had in listening to her; but he begged to take the +liberty to tell her that she failed to properly observe the movement, +and had taken an _andantino_ for an _andante_. At her solicitation he +took her place at the instrument, and executed the _andantino_ as few +but professional artists could do. Mlle. Moiseney, ever ready with her +enthusiasm, declared that he must be a Liszt or a Chopin, and implored +him to play her something else, to which he consented with good grace. +After this they talked about music and many other things. The man with +the green eyes possessed one quality in common with Socrates, he was +master in the art of interrogating, and Mlle. Moiseney loved to talk. +The subject on which she discoursed most willingly was Mlle. Antoinette +Moriaz; when she was started under this heading she became eloquent. +At the end of half an hour Count Abel was thoroughly _au fait_ on the +character and position of Mlle. Moriaz. He knew that she had a heart +of gold, a mind free from all narrow prejudices, a generous soul, and +a love for all that was chivalrous and heroic; he knew that two days of +every week were devoted by her to visiting the poor, and that she +looked upon these as natural creditors to whom it was her duty to make +restitution. He knew also that Mlle. Moriaz could all the better satisfy +her charitable inclinations, as her mother had left her an income of one +hundred thousand livres. He learned that she danced to perfection, that +she drew like an angel, and that she read Italian and spoke English. +This last seemed of mediocre importance to Count Abel. St. Paul said: +“Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not +charity, I am become as sounding brass, or a tinkling cymbal.” The count +was of St. Paul’s opinion, and had Mlle. Moriaz known neither how to +speak English, nor to draw, nor yet to dance, it would not in the +least have diminished the esteem with which he honoured her. The main +essential in his eyes was that she was benevolent to the poor, and that +she cherished a little tenderness for heroes. + +When he had learned, with an air of indifference, all that he cared to +learn, he respectfully bowed himself away from Mlle. Moiseney, to whom +he had not mentioned his name, and, buckling his haversack, he put it on +his back, paid his bill, and set out on foot to make a hasty ascent of +the culminating point of the Albula Pass, which leads into the Engadine +Valley. One would have difficulty in finding throughout the Alps a +more completely barren, rugged, desolate spot, than this portion of +the Albula Pass. The highway lies among masses of rocks, heaped up in +terrible disorder. Arrived at the culminating point, Count Abel felt the +necessity of taking breath. He clambered up a little hillock, where he +seated himself. At his feet were wide open the yawning jaws of a cavern, +obstructed by great tufts of aconite (wolf’s-bane), with sombre foliage; +one would have said that they kept guard over some crime in which they +had been accomplices. Count Abel contemplated the awful silence that +surrounded him; everywhere enormous boulders, heaped together, or +scattered about in isolated grandeur; some pitched on their sides, +others standing erect, still others suspended, as it were, in mid-air. +It seemed to him that these boulders had formerly served for the games +of bacchanalian Titans, who, after having used them as skittles or +jack-stones, had ended by hurling them at one another’s heads. It is +most probable that He who constructed the Albula Pass, alarmed and +confused by the hideous aspect of his work, did justice to it by +breaking it into fragments with his gigantic hammer. + +Count Abel heard a tinkling of bells, and, looking up, he saw +approaching a post-chaise, making its way from Engadine to Bergun. It +was a large, uncovered berlin, and in it sat a woman of about sixty +years of age, accompanied by her attendants and her pug-dog. This woman +had rather a bulky head, a long face, a snub-nose, high cheek-bones, a +keen, bright eye, a large mouth, about which played a smile, at the +same time _spirituel_, imperious, and contemptuous. Abel grew pale, and +became at once convulsed with terror; he could not withdraw his eyes +from this markedly Mongolian physiognomy, which from afar he had +recognised. “Ah, yes,” he said, “it is she!” He drew over his face the +cape of his mantle, and disappeared as completely as it is possible to +disappear when one is perched upon a hillock. It was six years since he +had seen this woman, and he had promised himself never to see her again; +but man is the plaything of circumstances, and his happiness as well +as his pride is at the mercy of a chance encounter. Count Abel was no +longer proud; for some moments he had humbled himself, he had ceased to +exist. + +Happily he discovered that he had not been recognised; that the woman +of sixty years of age was not looking his way. She had good taste; +discovering the hideous aspect of the country, which is usually known as +the Vallee du Diable, she had opened a volume, bound in morocco, which +her waiting-woman had placed in her hands. This volume was not a new +novel; it was a German book, entitled “The History of Civilization, +viewed in Accordance with the Doctrines of Evolution, from the most +Remote Period to the Present Day.” She neither had made much progress +in the pages of the book nor in the history of civilization; she had not +got beyond the age of stone or of bronze; she was still among primitive +animal life, among the protozoa, the monads, the infusoria, the +vibratiles--in the age of albumen, or gelatinous civilization, as it was +called by the author, the sagacity of whose views charmed her. She only +interrupted her reading at intervals to lightly stroke the nose of her +pug, who lay snoring in her lap, and she was a thousand leagues from +suspecting that Count Abel Larinski was at hand, watching her. + +The berlin passed by him without stopping, and soon it had begun the +descent towards Bergun. Then he felt a great weight roll from his heart, +which beat freely once more. The berlin moved rapidly away; the count +followed it with his prayers, smoothing its course, removing every +stone or other obstacle that might retard its progress. It was just +disappearing round one of the curves of the road, when it crossed +another post-chaise, making the ascent in a walk, and in it Count Abel +perceived something red: it was the hood of Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz. A +moment more and the berlin was gone; it seemed to him that the shadow of +his sorrowful youth, emerged suddenly from the realm of shades, had been +plunged back there forever, and that the fay of hope--she who holds +in her keeping the secrets of the future--was ascending toward him, +red-hooded, flowers in her hands, sunshine in her eyes. The clouds +parted, the deep shadow covering the Vallee du Diable cleared away, +and the dismal solitude began to smile. Count Abel arose, picked up his +staff, and shook himself. As he passed before the cavern, he discovered, +among the tufts of aconite which covered it, a mossy hollow, and +he perceived that this hollow was ornamented with beautiful blue +campanulas, whose little bells gracefully waved in the gentle breeze +which was stirring. He gathered one of these campanulas, carried it +to his lips, and found its taste most agreeable. Half an hour later +he turned from the highway into a foot-path which led through green +pastures and forests of larch-trees. + +By the time he had reached the heart of the valley it was nightfall. He +traversed the hamlet of Cresta, crossed a bridge, found himself at the +entrance of the village of Cellarina, about twenty-five minutes’ walk +form Saint Moritz. After taking counsel with himself, he resolved to +proceed no farther; and so he put up at a neat, pretty inn, which had +just been freshly white-washed. + +The air of the Engadine is so keen and bracing that the first nights +passed there are apt to be sleepless ones. Count Larinski scarcely slept +at all in his new quarters. Would he have slept better on the plains? +He became worn out with his thoughts. Of what was he thinking? Of the +cathedral at Chur, of the Vallee du Diable, of the tufts of aconite, the +campanulas, and the meeting of the two post-chaises, one ascending, the +other descending. After that he saw no longer anything but a red hood, +and his eyes were open when the first blush of the morning penetrated +his modest chamber. Eagles sleep little when they are preparing for the +chase. + + + +CHAPTER II + +The Baths of Saint Moritz are, according to the verdict of a large +number of people, by no means an enlivening resort, and here tarry +chiefly genuine invalids, who cherish a sincere desire to recover health +and strength. The invigorating atmosphere, the chalybeate waters, which +are unquestionably wholesome, although they do taste like ink, have +wrought more than one actual miracle; nevertheless, it is said to +require no little philosophy to tolerate existence there. “I am charmed +to have had the experience of visiting the Baths,” we once heard an +invalid say, “for I know now that I am capable of enduring anything +and everything.” But this, let us hasten to assure the reader, is an +exaggeration--the mere babbling of an ingrate. + +The Upper Engadine Valley, in which Saint Moritz is situated, has, as +well as the Baths, its detractors and its admirers. This narrow valley, +throughout whose whole length flows the Inn, shut in by glacier-capped +mountains, whose slopes are covered with spruce, pine, and larch trees, +lies at an altitude of some five thousand feet above the level of the +sea. It often snows there in the month of August, but spring and early +summer in the locality are delightful; and dotted about are numerous +little romantic green lakes, glittering like emeralds in the sunshine. +Those who slander these by comparing them to wash-bowls and cisterns, +are simply troubled with the spleen, a malady which neither iron, +iodine, nor yet sulphur, can cure. + +One thing these discontented folks cannot deny, and that is that it +would be difficult, not to say impossible, to find anywhere in the +mountains more flowery and highly perfumed mossy banks than those of +the Engadine. We do not make this assertion because of the rhododendrons +that abound on the borders of the lakes: we are not fond of this showy, +pretentious shrub, whose flowers look as if they were moulded in wax +for the decoration of some altar; but is it not delightful to walk on a +greensward, almost black with rich satyrion and vanilla? And what +would you think of a wealth of gentians, large and small; great yellow +arnicas; beautiful Martagon lilies; and St.-Bruno lilies; of every +variety of daphne; of androsace, with its rose-coloured clusters; of the +flame-coloured orchis; of saxifrage; of great, velvety campanulas; of +pretty violet asters, wrapped in little, cravat-like tufting, to protect +them from the cold? Besides, near the runnels, following whose borders +the cattle have tracked out graded paths, there grows that species of +immortelle called _Edelweiss_, an object of covetousness to every guest +at the Baths. Higher up, near the glacier approach, may be found the +white heart’s-ease, the anemone, and the glacial ranunculus (spearwort); +higher still, often buried beneath the snow, flourishes that charming +little lilac flower, delicately cut, sensitive, quivering, as it were, +with a cold, known as the soldanella. To scrape away the snow and find +beneath it a flower! Are there often made such delightful discoveries in +life? + +Having said thus much, we must admit that the Rue de Saint Moritz does +not resemble the Rue de la Paix of Paris. We must also admit that the +markets of the place are poorly supplied, and that in an atmosphere +well calculated to stimulate the appetite the wherewithal to supply this +cannot always be obtained. We cannot have everything in this world; +but it is by no means our intention to advise any one to take up his +residence for life in the Engadine. There must, however, be some charm +in this valley, since those of its inhabitants who emigrate from it in +their youth are very apt, after they have made some money, to return +to pass their old age in their natal place, where they build some very +pretty houses. + +Mlle. Moriaz did not find Saint Moritz disagreeable; the wildness of +the scenery and the rugged pines pleased her. From the terrace of Hotel +Badrutt she loved to gaze upon the green lake, slumbering at her feet, +and it never occurred to her to grumble because it had the form of +a wash-bowl. She loved to see the cows returning at evening from the +pasture. The cowherd in charge marshalled home in the most orderly +manner his little drove, which announced its coming from afar by the +tinkling of the cow-bells. Each one of the creatures stopped of itself +at the entrance to its stall and demanded admittance by its lowing. In +the morning, when they were turned out again, they awaited the arrival +of the entire herd, and fell into rank and file, each in its proper +place. The first time Mlle. Moriaz witnessed this ceremony, she found it +as interesting as a first presentation at the theatre or opera. + +There were several rainy days, which she employed in reading, painting, +and making observations on the human animals of both sexes whom she +encountered at the _table d’hote_. She soon gained an increase of +occupation. With her, mind and heart were so constantly on the alert +that it was impossible for her to remain a week in a place without +discovering some work of charity to be performed. A woman to whom she +had taken a fancy, a little shopkeeper of the place, interested her in +her daughter, who was destined to be a governess, and who desired to +learn drawing. Antoinette undertook to give her drawing-lessons, making +her come every day to the hotel, and often keeping her there several +hours. Her pupil was rather dull of comprehension, and caused her to +grow a little cross sometimes; but she always made amends to the girl by +her caresses and sprightly talk. + +The weather became fine again. Antoinette availed herself of +the opportunity to take long promenades; she clambered up the +mountain-slopes, over slippery turf, in the hope of carrying home some +rare plant; but her strength was not equal to her valour--she could not +succeed in scaling those heights where flourished the _Edelweiss_. +A week after her arrival she had a surprise, we might even say a +pleasurable emotion, which was not comprised in the programme of +amusements that the proprietor of Hotel Badrutt undertook to procure for +his guests. Returning from an excursion to Lake Silvaplana, she found +in her chamber a basket containing a veritable sheaf of Alpine flowers, +freshly gathered, and among them not only _Edelweiss_ in profusion, but +several very rare plants, and the rarest of all a certain bell-flower +creeper, which smells like the apricot, and which, except in some +districts of the Engadine, is only found now in Siberia. This splendid +bouquet was accompanied by a note, thus conceived: + +“A man who had had enough of life, resolved to hang himself. To execute +his dolorous design, he selected a lonely and dismal spot, where there +grew a solitary oak, whose sap was nearly exhausted. As he was engaged +in securing his cord, a bird alighted on the half-dead tree and began to +sing. The man said to himself: ‘Since there is no spot so miserable that +a bird will not deign to sing in it, I will have the courage to live.’ +And he lived. + +“I arrived in this village disgusted with life, sorrowful and so weary +that I longed to die. I saw you pass by, and I know not what mysterious +virtue entered into me. I will live. + +“‘What matters it to me?’ you will say, in reading these lines; and you +will be right. My sole excuse for having written them is, that I will +leave here in a few days; that you never will see me again, never know +who I am!” + +The first impression of Antoinette was one of profound astonishment. She +would have taken it for granted that there was some mistake had not her +name been written in full on the envelope. Her second impulse was to +laugh at her adventure. She accorded full justice to Mlle. Moriaz; she +knew very well that she did not resemble the first chance comer; +but that her beauty would work miracles, resurrections; that a +hypochondriac, merely from seeing her pass by, was likely to regain his +taste for existence, scarcely appeared admissible to her. So great was +her curiosity, that she took the pains to make inquiries; the flowers +and the letter had been left by a little peasant, who was not of +the place, and who could not be found. Antoinette examined the +hotel-register; she did not see there the handwriting of the letter. She +studied the faces which surrounded her; there was not in Hotel Badrutt a +single romantic-looking person. Very speedily she renounced her search. +The bouquet pleased her; she kept it as a present fallen from the skies, +and preserved the letter as a curiosity, without long troubling herself +to know who had written it. “Do not let us talk about it any more, it is +doubtless some lunatic,” she replied one day to Mlle. Moiseney, who kept +constantly recurring to the incident whose mystery she burned to fathom. +The good demoiselle had been tempted to stop people in the road to ask, +“Was it you?” Perchance she might have suspected her Bergun unknown to +have a hand in the affair, had she had the least idea that he was at +Saint Moritz, where she never had met him. He came there, nevertheless, +every day, but at his own time; besides, the hotels were full to +overflowing, and it was very easy to lose one’s self in the crowd. + +To tell the truth, when Count Abel Larinski came to Saint Moritz he +was far less occupied with Mlle. Moriaz than with a certain illustrious +chemist. The air of the Engadine and the waters that tasted like ink had +worked marvels: in a week M. Moriaz felt like a new man. There had come +to him a most formidable appetite, and he could walk for hours at a time +without becoming weary. He abused his growing strength by constantly +strolling through the mountains without a guide, hammer in hand; and +every day, in spite of the remonstrances of his daughter, he increased +the length of his excursions. The more people know, the more inquisitive +they become; and, when one is inquisitive, one can go to great lengths +without feeling fatigue; one only becomes conscious of this after the +exertion is over. M. Moriaz never for a moment suspected that he was +accompanied, at a respectful distance, on these solitary expeditions, by +a stranger, who, with eyes and ears both on the alert, watched over him +like a providence. The most peculiar part of the affair was that this +providence would gladly have caused him to take a misstep, or thrust him +into some quagmire, in order to have the pleasure of drawing him out, +and bearing him in his arms to the Hotel Badrutt. “If only he could fall +into a hole and break his leg!” Such was the daily wish of Count Abel +Larinski; but _savants_ have great license allowed them. Although M. +Moriaz was both corpulent and inclined to be absent-minded, he plunged +into more than one quagmire without sticking fast, more than one marsh +without having his progress impeded. + +One morning he conceived the project of climbing up as high as a certain +fortress of mountains whose battlements overhang a forest of pine and +larch trees. He was not yet sufficiently accustomed to the mountains to +realize how deceptive distances become there. After having drained two +glasses of the chalybeate waters, and breakfasted heartily, he set out, +crossed the Inn, and began the ascent to the forest. The slope grew more +and more abrupt, and ere long he discovered that he had wandered from +the foot-path. He was not one to be easily disheartened; he continued +climbing, laying hold of the brushwood with his hands, planting his +feet among perfidious pine-needles, which form a carpet as smooth as +a mirror, making three steps forward and two backward. Great drops of +perspiration started out on his brow, and he sat down for a moment to +wipe them away, hoping that some wood-cutter might appear and show +him the way back to the path, if there was one. But no human soul came +within sight; and plucking up his courage again he resumed the ascent, +until he had nearly reached a breastwork of rock, in which he vainly +sought an opening. He was about retracing his steps when he remembered +that from the gallery of the hotel he had observed this breastwork +of reddish rock, and it seemed to him that he remembered also that it +formed the buttress of the mountain-stronghold of which he was in quest; +and so he concluded that this would be the last obstacle he would have +to overcome. He thought that it would be actually humiliating to be +so near the goal and yet renounce it. The rock, worn by the frost, +presented sundry crevices and indentures, forming a natural stairway. +Arming himself with all his strength, and making free use of his nails, +he undertook to scale it, and in five minutes had gained a sort of +plateau, which, unluckily for him, he found to be commanded by a smooth +granite wall of a fearful height. The only satisfactory procedure for +him now was to return whence he had come; but in these perilous passages +to ascend is easier than to descend; it being impossible to choose one’s +steps, descent might lead to a rather undesirable adventure. M. Moriaz +did not dare to risk this adventure. + +He walked the whole length of the plateau where he found himself in the +hope of discovering some outlet; but the sole outlet he could discover +had already been monopolized by a mountain-torrent whose troubled waters +noisily precipitated themselves through it to the depths below. This +torrent was much too wide to wade, and to think of leaping over it would +have been preposterous. All retreat being cut off, M. Moriaz began to +regret his audacity. Seized by a sudden agony of alarm, he began to ask +himself if he was not condemned to end his days in this eagle’s-nest; he +thought with envy of the felicity of the inhabitants of the plains; he +cast piteous glances at the implacable wall whose frowning visage seemed +to reproach him with his imprudence. It seemed to him that the human +mind never had devised anything more beautiful than a great highway; +and it would have taken little to make him exclaim with Panurge, “Oh, +thrice--ay, quadruply--happy those who plant cabbages!” + +Although there seemed small chance of his being heard in this solitude, +he called aloud several times; he had great difficulty in raising his +voice above the noise of the cataract. Suddenly he believed that he +heard below him a distant voice replying to his call. He redoubled his +cries, and it seemed to him that the voice drew nearer, and soon he saw +emerging from the thicket bordering the opposite bank of the torrent a +pale face with chestnut beard, which he remembered having beheld in the +cathedral at Chur, and to have seen again at Bergun. + +“You are a prisoner, monsieur,” was the salutation of Count Larinski; +for, of course, the newcomer was none other than he. “One moment’s +patience, and I am with you.” And his face beamed with joy. He had him +at last, this precious game which has caused him so many steps. + +He turned away, bounding from rock to rock with the agility of a +chamois. In about twenty minutes he reappeared, bearing on his shoulder +a long plank which he had detached from the inclosure of a piece of +pasture-land. He threw it across the torrent, secured it as well as he +could, crossed this impromptu foot-bridge of his own device, and joined +M. Moriaz, who was quite ready to embrace him. + +“Nothing is more perfidious than the mountains,” said the count. “They +are haunted by some mysterious sprite, who fairly delights in playing +tricks with venturesome people; but ‘all’s well that ends well.’ Before +setting out from here you need something to revive you. The rarefied +atmosphere of these high regions makes the stomach frightfully hollow. +More prudent than you, I never undertake these expeditions without +providing myself with some refreshment. But how pale you are!” he added, +looking at him with sympathetic, almost tender, eyes. “Put on, I beg +of you, my overcoat, and I will wrap myself up in my plaid, and then we +will both be warm.” + +With these words he took off his overcoat and handed it to M. Moriaz, +who, feeling almost frozen, offered feeble objections to donning the +garment, although he had some difficulty in getting into the sleeves. + +During this time Count Abel had thrown down on the rock the wallet he +carried slung to a leathern strap over his shoulders. He drew forth from +it a loaf of light bread, some hard-boiled eggs, a _pate_ of venison, +and a bottle of excellent burgundy. These provisions he spread +out around him, and then presented to M. Moriaz a cup cut from a +cocoanut-shell, and filled it to the brim, saying, “Here is something +that will entirely restore you.” M. Moriaz drained the cup, and soon +felt his weakness disappear. His natural good spirits returned to him, +and he gaily narrated to his Amphitryon his deplorable Odyssey. In +return, Abel recounted to him a similar adventure he had had in the +Carpathian Mountains. It is very easy to take a liking to a man who +helps you out of a scrape, who gives you drink when you are thirsty, and +food when you are hungry; but, even had not M. Moriaz been under great +obligations to Count Larinski, he could not have avoided the discovery +that this amiable stranger was a man of good address and agreeable +conversation. + +Nevertheless, so soon as the repast was finished, he said: “We have +forgotten ourselves in our talk. I am the happy father of a charming +daughter who has a vivid imagination. She will believe that I have +met with an untimely end if I do not hasten as speedily as possible to +reassure her.” + +Count Abel hereupon gave his hand to M. Moriaz to aid him in preserving +his equilibrium as he crossed the plank, which was not wide. Throughout +the descent he overwhelmed him with attentions, sustaining him with his +arm when the descent became too abrupt. So soon as they had made their +way to a foot-path, they resumed their conversation. Abel was very +clear-sighted, and, like Socrates, as we said before, he was master in +the art of interrogating. He turned the conversation to erratic +glaciers and boulders. M. Moriaz was enchanted with his manner of asking +questions; as Professor of the College of France, he was well pleased to +owe his life to an intelligent man. + +As they traversed a pine-forest, they heard a voice hailing them, +and they were shortly joined by a guide whom Mlle. Moriaz, mortally +disquieted at the prolonged absence of her father, had sent in quest of +him. Pale with emotion, trembling in every fibre, she had seated herself +on the bank of a stream. She was completely a prey to terror, and in her +imagination plainly saw her father lying half dead at the bottom of some +precipice or rocky crevasse. On perceiving him she uttered a cry of joy +and ran to meet him. + +“Ah! truly, my love,” said he, “I have been more fortunate than wise. +And I shall have to ask my deliverer his name in order to present him to +you.” + +Count Abel appeared not to have heard these last words. He stammered +out something about M. Moriaz having exaggerated the worth of the little +service it had been his good fortune to render him, and then with a +cold, formal, dignified air, he bowed to Antoinette and moved hurriedly +away, as a man who cares little to make new acquaintances, and who longs +to get back to his solitude. + +He was already at some distance when M. Moriaz, who had been busily +recounting his adventures to his daughter, bethought him that he had +kept his deliverer’s overcoat. He searched in the pockets, and there +found a memorandum-book and some visiting-cards bearing the name of +Count Abel Larinski. Before dinner he made the tour of all the hotels in +Saint Moritz without discovering where M. Larinski lodged. He learned +it in the evening from a peasant who came over from Cellarina for the +overcoat. + +The good Mlle. Moiseney was quite taken with Count Abel; first, because +he was handsome, and then because he played the piano bewitchingly. +There could be no doubt that Antoinette would feel grateful to this +good-looking musician who had restored to her her father. Certain +of being no longer thwarted in her enthusiasm, she said to her that +evening, with a smile which was meant to be excessively ironical: + +“Well, my dear, do you still think that Count Larinski has a stoop in +his shoulders, and that his head is badly poised?” + +“It is a matter of small import, but I do not gainsay it.” + +“Ah, if you had only heard him play one of Schumann’s romances!” + +“A talent for music is a noble one. Nevertheless, the man’s chief merit, +in my eyes, is that he has a taste for saving life.” + +“Oh, I was sure from the first, perfectly sure, that this man had a +large heart and a noble soul. I read physiognomies very correctly, and +I never need to see people twice to know how far they can be relied on.” + After a pause she added, “I wonder if I dare tell you, my dear, of an +idea that has occurred to me?” + +“Tell me, by all means. Your ideas sometimes amuse me.” + +“Might it not turn out that the author of a certain note, and sender of +a certain thing, was M. le Comte Abel Larinski?” + +“Why he rather than any other?” queried Antoinette. “I believe you do +him wrong: he appears to be a gentleman, and gentlemen do not write +anonymous letters.” + +“Oh! that was a very innocent one, and you may be sure that he wrote it +in perfect good faith.” + +“You believe, then, mademoiselle, that in good faith a man about to +put a halter about his neck would renounce his project because he had +encountered Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz on a public highway?” + +“Why not?” cried Mlle. Moiseney, looking at her with eyes wide open with +admiration. “Besides, you know the Poles are a hot-headed people, whose +hearts are open to all noble enthusiasms. One could pardon in Count +Larinski what could not be overlooked in a Parisian.” + +“I will pardon him on condition that he will keep his promise and never +make himself known to me, for this is unquestionably the first duty of a +mysterious unknown. Just now he refused to let my father present him +to me, which is a good mark in his favour. If he alters his mind, +he becomes at once a condemned man. I pity you, my dear Joan,” added +Antoinette, laughingly. “You are dying with longing to hear one of those +romances without words, which M. Larinski plays so divinely; and if M. +Larinski be the man of the letter, his own avowal prohibits him from +appearing before me again. How can you extricate yourself from this +dilemma? The case is embarrassing.” + +It was M. Moriaz who undertook the solution of this embarrassing +dilemma. Three days later, some moments before dinner, he was walking in +the hotel-grounds, smoking a cigar. He saw passing along the road Count +Abel, on his way back to Cellarina. A storm was coming up; already great +drops of rain were beginning to fall. M. Moriaz ran after the count and +seized him by the button, saying: “You have saved my life--permit me, at +least, to save you from the rain. Do me the honour to share our dinner; +we will have it served in my apartment.” + +Abel strongly resisted this proposition, giving reasons that sounded +like mere pretences. A rumbling of thunder was heard. M. Moriaz took +his man by the arm, and led him in by force. He presented him to +his daughter, saying: “Antoinette, let me present to you M. le Comte +Larinski, a most excellent man, but little inclined to sociability. I +was compelled to use violence in bringing him here.” + +The count acknowledged these remarks with a constrained smile. He wore +the manner of a prisoner; but, as he prided himself on his good-breeding +and on his philosophy, he seemed to be endeavouring to make the best +of his prison. During dinner he was grave. He treated Antoinette with +frigid politeness, paid some attention to Mlle. Moiseney, but reserved +his chief assiduities for Mr. Moriaz. He addressed his conversation +more particularly to him, and listened to him with profound respect. A +professor is always sensible to this kind of courtesy. + +After the coffee was served, the crusting of ice in which Count Abel had +incased himself began to thaw. He had been all over the world; he knew +the United States and Turkey, New Orleans and Bucharest, San Francisco +and Constantinople. His travels had been profitable to him: he had +observed men and things, countries and institutions, customs and laws, +the indigenous races and the settlers, all but the transient visitors, +with whom he seemed to have had no time to occupy himself; at least they +formed no part of his conversation. He related several anecdotes, with +some show of sprightliness; his melancholy began to melt away, he even +indulged in little bursts of gaiety, and Antoinette could not avoid +comparing him and his discourse to some of the more rigorous passages of +the Engadine, where, amid the black shades of the pines, among frowning +rocks, there are to be found lilies, gentians, and lakes. + +He resumed his gravity to reply to a question of M. Moriaz concerning +Poland. “Unhappy Poland!” cried he. “To-day the Jew is its master. +Active, adroit, inventive, little scrupulous, he makes capital out of +our indolence and our improvidence. He has over us one great advantage, +which is simply that, while we live from day to day, he possesses a +notion of a to-morrow; we despise him, and we could not do without him. +We are always thirsty, and he supplies us with drink; we never have +ready money, and he loans it to us at an enormous rate of interest; we +cannot return it to him, and he reimburses himself by seizing our goods +and chattels, our jewels, our land, and our castles. We take out our +revenge in insolence, and from time to time in petty persecutions, and +we gradually arrive at the conclusion that the sole means of freeing +ourselves from the yoke of the Jew would be to conquer the vices by +which he lives.” Count Abel added that for his part he had no prejudice +against these children of Abraham, and he quoted the words of an +Austrian publicist who said that each country had the kind of Jews it +deserved. “In fact,” he continued, “in England, as in France, and in +every country where they are placed on a footing of equality, they +become one of the most wholesome, most vigorous elements of the nation, +while they are the scourge, the leeches, of the countries that persecute +them.” + +“And, truly, justice demands that it should be so,” cried Mlle. Moriaz. + +For the first time the count addressed himself directly to her, saying, +with a smile: “How is this, mademoiselle? You are a woman, and you love +justice!” + +“This astonishes you, monsieur?” she rejoined. “You do not think justice +one of our virtues?” + +“A woman of my acquaintance,” he replied, “always maintained that it +would be rendering a very bad service to this poor world of ours to +suppress all injustice, because with the same stroke would also be +suppressed all charity.” + +“That is not my opinion,” said she. “When I give, it seems to me that I +make restitution.” + +“She is somewhat of a socialist,” cried M. Moriaz. “I perceive it +every January in making out her accounts, and it is fortunate that she +intrusts this to me, for she never takes the trouble to look at the +memorandum her banker sends her.” + +“I am proud for Poland that Mlle. Moriaz has a Polish failing,” said +Abel Larinski, gallantly. + +“Is it a failing?” queried Antoinette. + +“Arithmetic is the most beautiful of the sciences and the mother of +certainty,” said M. Moriaz. And turning towards the count, he added: +“She is very wrong-headed, this girl of mine; she holds absolutely +revolutionary principles, dangerous to public order and the preservation +of society. Why, she maintains that people who are in need have a right +to the superfluities of others!” + +“This appears to me self-evident,” said she. + +“And, for example,” further continued M. Moriaz, “she has among her +_proteges_ a certain Mlle. Galard--” + +“Galet,” said Mlle. Moiseney, bridling up, for she had been impatiently +awaiting an opportunity to put in a word. + +“This Mlle. Leontine Galet, who lives at No. 25 Rue Mouffetard--” + +“No. 27,” again interposed Mlle. Moiseney, in a magisterial tone. + +“As usual, you are sure of it, perfectly sure. Very good! This Mlle. +Galard or Galet, residing at No. 25 or No. 27 Rue Mouffetard, was +formerly a florist by trade, and now she has not a sou. I do not wish +to fathom the mysteries of her past--it is very apt to be ‘lightly come, +lightly go’ with the money of these people--but certain it is that Mlle. +Galard--” + +“Galet,” put in Mlle. Moiseney, sharply. + +“Is to-day an infirm old woman, a worthy object of the compassion +of charitable people,” continued M. Moriaz, heedless of this last +interruption. “Mlle. Moriaz allows her a pension, with which I find no +fault; but Mlle. Galet--I mistake, Mlle. Galard--has retained from her +former calling her passion for flowers, and during the winter Mlle. +Moriaz sends her every week a bouquet costing from ten to twelve francs, +which shows, according to my opinion, a lack of common-sense. In the +month of January last, she sent for Parma violets for this _protégé_ +of hers. Now, I appeal to M. Larinski--is this reasonable, or is it +absurd?” + +“It is admirably absurd and foolishly admirable,” replied the count. + +“The flowers I give her are never so beautiful as some that were sent me +the other day,” exclaimed Mlle. Moriaz. + +She went then into the next room, and returned, carrying the vase of +water containing the mysterious bouquet. “What do you think of these?” + she asked the count. “They are already much faded, and yet I think they +are beautiful still.” + +He admired the bouquet; but, although Antoinette regarded him fixedly, +she detected neither blush nor confusion on his face. “It was not he,” + she said to herself. + +There was a piano in the room where they had dined. As Count Abel was +taking leave, Mlle. Moiseney begged him to give Mlle. Moriaz proof of +his talent. He slightly knit his brows at this request, and resumed that +sombre, almost savage, air he had worn when he met Antoinette at the +foot of the mountain. He urged in excuse the lateness of the hour, but +he allowed the promise to be wrested from him that he would be more +complaisant the next day. + +When he was gone, accompanied by M. Moriaz, who said he would walk a +little distance with him, Antoinette exclaimed: “You see, my dear--it +was not he.” + +“Suppose I was wrong,” replied Mlle. Moiseney, in a piqued tone--“you +will at least grant that he is handsome?” + +“As handsome as you please. Do you know what I think of when I look at +him? A haunted castle. And I feel curious to make the acquaintance of +the goblins that visit it.” + +Notwithstanding his promise, Count Larinski did not reappear before the +lapse of three days; but this time he gave all the music that was asked +of him. His memory was surprising, and his whole soul seemed to be +at the ends of his fingers; and he drew marvellous strains from an +instrument which, in itself, was far from being a marvel. He sang, too; +he had a barytone voice, mellow and resonant. After having hummed in a +low tone some Roumanic melodies, he struck up one of his own national +songs. This he failed to finish; tears started in his eyes, emotion +overpowered his voice. He broke off abruptly, asking pardon for the +weakness that had caused him to make himself ridiculous; but one glance +at Mlle. Moriaz convinced him that she did not find him ridiculous. + +A most invaluable resource, indeed, in a mountain-country where the +evenings are long, is a Pole who knows how to talk and to sing. M. +Moriaz liked music; but he liked something else besides. When he could +not go into society and was forbidden to work, he grew sleepy after +dinner; in order to rouse himself he was glad to play a hand of +_bezique_ or _ecarte_. For want of some one better, he played with +Mlle. Moiseney; but this make-shift was little to his taste; he disliked +immensely coming into too close proximity with the pinched visage and +yellow ribbons of Pope Joan. He proposed to Count Larinski to take a +hand with him, and his proposal was accepted with the best grace in the +world. “Decidedly this man is good for everything,” thought M. Moriaz, +and he conceived a great liking for him. The result was, that during an +entire week Count Abel passed every evening at the Hotel Badrutt. + +“Your father is a most peculiar man,” said Mlle. Moiseney, indignantly, +to Antoinette. “He is shockingly egotistical. He has confiscated M. +Larinski. The idea of employing such a man as that to play _bezique_! He +will stop coming.” + +But the count’s former savageness seemed wholly subdued. He did not stop +coming. + +One evening M. Moriaz committed an imprudence. In making an odd trick, +he carelessly asked M. Larinski who had been his piano professor. + +“One whose portrait I always carry about me,” was the reply. + +And, drawing from his vest-pocket a medallion, he presented it to M. +Moriaz, who, after having looked at it, passed it over to his daughter. +The medallion contained the portrait of a woman with blond hair, +blue eyes, a refined, lovely mouth, a fragile, delicate being with +countenance at the same time sweet and sad, the face of an angel, but an +angel who had lived and suffered. + +“What an exquisite face!” cried Mlle. Moriaz. + +Truly it was exquisite. Some one has asserted that a Polish woman is +like punch made with holy-water. One may like neither the punch nor the +holy-water, and yet be very fond of Polish women. They form one of the +best chapters in the great book of the Creator. + +“It is the portrait of my mother,” said Count Larinski. + +“Are you so fortunate as to still possess her?” asked Antoinette. + +“She was a tender flower,” he replied; “and tender flowers never live +long.” + +“Her portrait shows it plainly; one can see that she suffered much, but +was resigned to live.” + +For the first time the count departed from the reserve he had shown +towards Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz. “I have no words to tell you,” he +exclaimed, “how happy I am that my mother pleases you!” + +Othello was accused of having employed secret philters to win +Desdemona’s love. Brabantio had only himself to blame; he had taken a +liking to Othello, and often invited him to come to him; he did not +make him play _bezique_, but he questioned him on his past. The Moor +recounted his life, his sufferings, his adventures, and Desdemona +wept. The fathers question, the heroes or adventurers recount, and the +daughters weep. Such are the outlines of a history as old as the world. +Abel Larinski had left the card-table. He had taken his seat in an +arm-chair, facing Mlle. Moiseney. He was questioned; he replied. + +His destiny had been neither light nor easy. He was quite young when +his father, Count Witold Larinski, implicated in a conspiracy, had been +compelled to flee from Warsaw. His property was confiscated, but luckily +he had some investments away from home, which prevented him from being +left wholly penniless. He was a man of projects. He emigrated to America +with his wife and his son; he dreamed of making a name and a fortune +by cutting a canal through the Isthmus of Panama. He repaired to New +Granada, there to make his studies and his charts. He made them so +thoroughly that he died of yellow fever before having begun his work, +having come to the end of his money and leaving his widow in the most +cruel destitution. Countess Larinski said to her son: “We have nothing +more to live on; but, then, is it so necessary to live?” She uttered +these words with an angelic smile about her lips. Abel set out for +California. He undertook the most menial services; he swept the streets, +acted as porter; what cared he, so long as his mother did not die of +hunger? All that he earned he sent to her, enduring himself the most +terrible privations, making her think that he denied himself nothing. +In the course of time Fortune favoured him; he had acquired a certain +competency. The countess came to rejoin him in San Francisco; but angels +cannot live in the rude, exciting atmosphere of the gold-seekers; they +suffer, spread their wings, and fly away. Some weeks after having lost +his mother--it was in 1863--Count Abel learned from a journal that fell +into his hands that Poland had risen again. He was twenty-one years of +age. He thought he heard a voice calling him, and another voice from the +skies whispered: “She calls thee. Go; it is thy duty.” And he went. Two +months later he crossed the frontier of Galicia to join the bands of +Langiewicz. + +Othello spoke to Desdemona of caverns, deserts, quarries, rocks, and +hills whose heads touch heaven; of cannibals, the anthropophagi, and men +whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders. Count Abel spoke to Mlle. +Moriaz of the fortunes and vicissitudes of partisan warfare, of vain +exploits, of obscure glories, of bloody encounters that never are +decisive, of defeats from which survive hope, hunger, thirst, cold, +snow stained with blood, and long captivities in forests, tracked by the +enemy; then disasters, discouragements, the vanishing of the last hope, +punishment, the gallows, and finally a mute, feverish resignation, +swallowed up in that vast solitude with which silence surrounds +misfortune. After the dispersion of the band whose destinies he had +followed, he had gone over to Roumania. + +This narration, exact and precise, bore the impress of truth. Count Abel +made it in a simple, modest tone, keeping himself as much as possible +in the background, and growing persuasive without apparent effort. There +were moments when his face would flame up with enthusiasm, when his +voice would become husky and broken, when he would seek for a word, +become impatient because he could not find it, find it at last, and this +effort added to the energy of his spasmodic and disjointed eloquence. +In conclusion, he said: “In his youth man believes himself born to roll; +the day comes when he experiences the necessity of being seated. I am +seated; my seat is a little hard, but when I am tempted to murmur, I +think of my mother and refrain.” + +“What did you do in Roumania?” inquired M. Moriaz, who liked to have +stories circumstantially detailed. + +“Ah! I beg of you to excuse me from recounting to you the worst employed +years of my life. I am my father’s own son. He dreamed of cutting +through an isthmus, I of inventing a gun. I spent four years of my life +in fabricating it, and the first time it was used it burst.” + +And thereupon he plunged into a somewhat humorous description of his +invention, his hopes, his golden dreams, his disappointments, and his +chagrin. “The only admirable thing in the whole affair,” he concluded, +“and something that I believe never has happened to any other inventor, +is that I am cured entirely of my chimera; I defy it to take possession +of me again. I propose to put myself under discipline in order to +expiate my extravagance. So soon as my cure is entirely finished I will +set out for Paris, where I will do penance.” + +“What kind of penance?” asked M. Moriaz. “Paris is not a hermitage.” + +“Nor is it my intention to live there as a hermit,” was the reply, +given with perfect simplicity. “I go to give lessons in music and in the +languages.” + +“Indeed!” exclaimed M. Moriaz. “Do you see no other career open to you, +my dear count?” + +“I am no longer a count,” he replied, with an heroic smile. “Counts do +not run about giving private lessons.” And a strange light flashed in +his eyes as he spoke. “I shall run about giving private lessons until I +hear anew the voice that spoke to me in California. It will find me +ever ready; my reply will be: ‘I belong to thee; dispose of me at thy +pleasure.’ Ah! this chimera is one that I never will renounce!” + +Then suddenly he started as one just awakening from a dream; he drew +his hand over his brow, looked confusedly around him, and said: “_Grand +Dieu!_ here I have been talking to you of myself for two hours! It is +the most stupid way of passing one’s time, and I promise you it shall +not happen again.” + +With these words he rose, took up his hat, and left. + +M. Moriaz paced the floor for some moments, his hands behind his back; +presently he said: “This _diable_ of a man has strangely moved me. One +thing alone spoils his story for me--that is the gun. A man who once has +drunk will drink again; one who has invented will invent again. No man +in the world ever remained satisfied with his first gun.” + +“I beg of you, monsieur,” cried Mlle. Moiseney, “could you not speak to +the Minister of War about adopting the Larinski musket?” + +“Are you your country’s enemy?” he asked. “Do you wish its destruction? +Have you sworn that after Alsace we must lose Champagne?” + +“I am perfectly sure,” she replied, mounting on her high horse, “that +the Larinski musket is a _chef-d’oeuvre_, and I would pledge my life +that he who invented it is a man of genius.” + +“If you would pledge your word of honour to that, mademoiselle,” he +replied, making her a profound bow, “you may well feel assured that the +French Government would not hesitate a moment.” + +Mlle. Moriaz took no part in this conversation. Her face slightly +contracted, buried in her thoughts as in a solitude inaccessible to +earthly sounds, her cheek resting in the palm of her left hand, she held +in her right hand a paper-cutter, and she kept pricking the point into +one of the grooves of the table on which her elbow rested, while her +half-closed eyes were fixed on a knot of the mahogany. She saw in this +knot the Isthmus of Panama, San Francisco, the angelic countenance of +the beautiful Polish woman who had given birth to Count Abel Larinski; +she saw there also fields of snow, ambuscades, retreats more glorious +than victories, and, beyond all else, the bursting of a gun and of a +man’s heart. + +She arose, and saluted her father without a word. In crossing the +_salon_ she perceived that M. Larinski had forgotten a book he had left +on the piano when he came in. She opened the volume; he had written +his name on the top of the first page, and Antoinette recognised the +handwriting of the note. + +Shut up in her own room, while taking down and combing her hair, her +imagination long wandered through California and Poland. She compared +M. Larinski with all the other men she ever had known, and she concluded +that he resembled none of them. And it was he who had written: “I +arrived in this village disgusted with life, sorrowful and so weary +that I longed to die. I saw you pass by, and I know not what mysterious +virtue entered into me. I will live.” + +It seemed to her that for long years she had been seeking some one, and +that she had done well to come to the Engadine, because here she had +found the object of her search. + + + +CHAPTER III + +Two, three, four days passed without Count Larinski reappearing at +the Hotel Badrutt, where every evening he was expected. This prolonged +absence keenly affected Mlle. Moriaz. She sought an explanation thereof; +the search occupied part of her days, and troubled her sleep. She had +too much character not to conceal her trouble and anxiety. Those about +her had not the least suspicion that she asked herself a hundred times +in the twenty-four hours: “Why does he not come? will he never come +again? is it a fixed resolution? Does he blame us for drawing out, by +our questions, the secret of his life? or does he suspect that I have +discovered him to be the writer of the anonymous letter? Will he leave +Engadine without bidding us good-bye? Perhaps he has already gone, +and we shall never see him again.” This thought caused Mlle. Moriaz a +heart-burn that she had never before experienced. Her day had come; her +heart was no longer free: the bird had allowed itself to be caught. + +Mlle. Moiseney said to her one evening: “It seems certain to me that we +never shall see Count Larinski again.” + +She replied in an almost indifferent tone, “No doubt he has found people +at Cellarina, or elsewhere, who are more entertaining than we.” + +“You mean to say,” said Mlle. Moiseney, “that M. Moriaz and the +_bezique_ has frightened him away. I would not for worlds speak ill of +your father; he has all the good qualities imaginable, except a certain +delicacy of sentiment, which is not to be learned in dealing with acids. +Think of condemning a Count Larinski to play _bezique_! There are some +things that your father does not and never will understand.” + +M. Moriaz had entered meanwhile. “Please oblige me by explaining what it +is that I do not understand,” said he to Mlle. Moiseney. + +She replied with some embarrassment, “You do not understand, monsieur, +that certain visits were a charming diversion to us, and that now we +miss them.” + +“And do you think that I do not miss them? It has been four days since +I have had a game of cards. But how can it be helped? Poles are +fickle--more fools they who trust them.” + +“It may be simply that M. Larinski has been ill,” interrupted +Antoinette, with perfect tranquility. “I think, father, that it would be +right for us to make inquiries.” + +The following day M. Moriaz went to Cellarina. He brought back word that +M. Larinski had gone on a walking-excursion through the mountains; +that he had started out with the intention of climbing to the summit of +Piz-Morteratsch, and of attempting the still more difficult ascent of +Piz-Roseg. Mlle. Moriaz found it hard to decide whether this news was +good or bad news. All depended on what point of view was taken, and she +changed hers every hour. + +Since his mishap, M. Moriaz had become less rash than formerly. +Experience had taught him that there are treacherous rocks that can +be climbed without much difficulty, but from which it is impossible to +descend--rocks exposing one to the danger of ending one’s days in their +midst, if there is no Pole near at hand. Certain truths stamp themselves +indelibly on the mind; so M. Moriaz never ventured again on the +mountains without being attended by a guide, who received orders from +Antoinette not to leave him, and not to let him expose himself. One day +he came in later than usual, and his daughter reproached him, with some +vivacity, for the continual anxiety he caused her. “The glaciers and +precipices will end by giving me the nightmare,” she said to him. + +“Pray on whose account, my dear?” he playfully rejoined. “I assure you +the ascent that I have just made was neither more difficult nor more +dangerous than that of Montmartre, nor of the Sannois Hill, and as to +glaciers, I have firmly resolved to keep shy of them. I have passed +the age of prowess. My guide has been making me tremble by relating the +dangers to which he was exposed in 1864 on Morteratsch, where he had +accompanied Professor Tyndall and another English tourist. They were all +swept away by an avalanche. Attached to the same rope, they went down +with the snow. A fall of three hundred metres! They would have been +lost, if, through the presence of mind of one of the guides, they +had not succeeded in stopping themselves two feet from a frightful +precipice, which was about to swallow them up. I am a father, and I +do not despise life. Let him ascend Morteratsch who likes! I wish our +friend Larinski had made the descent safe and sound. If he has met an +avalanche on the way, he will invent no more guns.” + +Antoinette was no longer mistress of her nerves: during the entire +evening she was so preoccupied that M. Moriaz could not fail to notice +it; but he had no suspicion of the cause. He was profoundly versed in +qualitative and quantitative analysis, but less skilled in the analysis +of his daughter’s heart. “How pale you are!” he said to her. “Are you +not well? You are cold.--Pray, Mlle. Moiseney, make yourself useful and +prepare her a mulled egg; you know I do not permit her to be sick.” + +It was not the mulled egg that restored Mlle. Moriaz’s color. The next +morning as she was giving a drawing lesson to her _protegee_, Count Abel +was announced. She trembled; the blood rose in her cheeks, and she could +not conceal her agitation from the penetrating gaze of the audacious +charmer. It might easily be seen that he had just descended from where +the eagles themselves seldom ascend. His face was weather-beaten by the +ice and snow. He had successfully accomplished the double ascent, +of which he was compelled to give an account. In descending from +Morteratsch he had been overtaken by a storm, and had come very near +never again seeing the valley or Mlle. Moriaz. He owed his life to the +presence of mind and courage of his guide, on whom he could not bestow +sufficient praise. + +While he modestly narrated his exploits, Antoinette had dismissed her +pupil. He seemed embarrassed by the _tete-a-tete_ which, nevertheless, +he had sought. He rose, saying: “I regret not being able to see M. +Moriaz; I came to bid him farewell. I leave this evening.” + +She summoned courage and replied: “You did well to come; you left a +volume of Shakespeare--here it is.” Then drawing from her notebook a +paper--“I have still another restitution to make to you. I have had the +misfortune to discover that it was you who wrote this letter.” + +With these words she handed him the anonymous note. He changed +countenance, and it was now his turn to grow red. “Who can prove to +you,” he demanded, “that I am the author of this offence, or rather +crime?” + +“Every bad case may be denied, but do not you deny.” + +After a moment’s silence, he replied: “I will not lie, I am not capable +of lying. Yes, I am the guilty one; I confess it with sorrow, because +you are offended by my audacity.” + +“I never liked madrigals, either in prose or verse, signed or +anonymous,” she returned, rather dryly. + +He exclaimed, “You took this letter for a madrigal?” Then, having reread +it, he deliberately tore it up, throwing the pieces into the fireplace, +and added, smiling: “It certainly lacked common-sense; he who wrote it +is a fool, and I have nothing to say in his defence.” + +Crossing her hands on her breast, and uplifting to him her brown eyes, +that were as proud as gentle, she softly murmured, “What more?” + +“I came to Chur,” he replied, “I entered a church, I there saw a fair +unknown, and I forgot myself in gazing at her. That evening I saw her +again; she was walking in a garden where there was music, and this music +of harps and violins was grateful to me. I said within myself: ‘What a +thing is the heart of man! The woman who has passed me by without seeing +me does not know me, will never know of my existence; I am ignorant +of even her name, and I wish to remain so, but I am conscious that she +exists, and I am glad, content, almost happy. She will be for me the +fair unknown; she cannot prevent me from remembering her. I will think +sometimes of the fair unknown of Chur.’” + +“Very good,” said she, “but this does not explain the letter.” + +“We are coming to that,” he continued. “I was seated in a copse, by the +roadside. I had the blues--was profoundly weary; there are times when +life weighs on me like a torturing burden. I thought of disappointed +expectations, of dissipated illusions, of the bitterness of my youth and +of my future. You passed by on the road, and I said to myself, ‘There +is good in life, because of such encounters, in which we catch renewed +glimpses of what was once pleasant for us to see.’” + +“And the note?” she asked again, in a dreamy tone. + +He went on: “I never was a philosopher; wisdom consists in performing +only useful actions, and I was born with a taste for the useless. That +evening I saw you climb a hill, in order to gather some flowers; the +hill was steep and you could not reach the flowers. I gathered them for +you, and, in sending my bouquet, I could not resist the temptation of +adding a word. ‘Before doing penance,’ I said to myself, ‘let me commit +this one folly; it shall be the last.’ We always flatter ourselves that +each folly will be our last. The unfortunate note had scarcely gone, +when I regretted having sent it; I would have given much to have had it +back; I felt all its impropriety; I have dealt justly by it in tearing +it to pieces. My only excuse was my firm resolution not to meet you, not +to make your acquaintance. Chance ordered otherwise: I was presented to +you, you know by whom, and how; I ended by coming here every evening, +but I rebelled against my own weakness, I condemned myself to absence +for a few days, so as to break a dangerous habit, and, thank God! I have +broken my chain.” + +She lightly tapped the floor with the tip of her foot, and demanded with +the air of a queen recalling a subject to his allegiance, “Are you to be +believed?” + +He had spoken in a half-serious, half-jesting tone, tinged with the +playful melancholy that was natural to him. He changed countenance, his +face flushed, and he cried out abruptly, “I regained my strength +and will on the summit of Morteratsch, and I only return to bid you +farewell, and to give you the assurance that I never will see you +again.” + +“It is a strange case,” she replied; “but I pardon you, on condition +that you do not execute your threat. You are resolved to be wise; the +wise avoid extremes. You will remember that you have friends in Paris. +My father has many connections; if we can be of service to you in any +way--” + +He did not permit her to finish, and responded proudly: “I thank you, +with all my heart. I have sworn to be under obligations to none but +myself.” + +“Very well,” she replied, “you will visit us for our pleasure. In a +month we shall be at Cormeilles.” + +He shook his head in sign of refusal. She looked fixedly at him, and +said, “It must be so.” + +This look, these words, sent to Count Abel’s brain such a thrill of joy +and of hope that for a moment he thought he had betrayed himself. He +nearly fell on his knees before Mlle. Moriaz, but, speedily mastering +his emotions, he bowed gravely, casting down his eyes. She herself +immediately resumed her usual voice and manner, and questioned him on +his journey. He told her, in reply, that he proposed to go by the route +of Soleure, and to stay there a day in order to visit in Gurzelengasse +the house where Kosciuszko, the greatest of Poles, had died. He had +thought of this pilgrimage for a long time. He added: “Still another +useless action. Ah! when shall I improve?” + +“Don’t improve too much,” she said, smiling. And then he went away. + +M. Moriaz returned to the hotel about noon: his guide being engaged +elsewhere, he had taken only a short ramble. After breakfast his +daughter proposed to him that he should go down with her to the banks +of the lake. They made the descent, which is not difficult. This +pretty piece of water, that has been falsely accused of resembling a +shaving-dish, is said to be not less than a mile in length. When the +father and daughter reached the entrance of the woods that pedestrians +pass through in going to Pontresina, they seated themselves on the +grass at the foot of a larch. They remained some time silent. Antoinette +watched the cows grazing, and stroked the smooth, glossy leaves of a +yellow gentian with the end of her parasol. M. Moriaz busied himself +with neither the cows nor the yellow gentian--he thought of M. Camille +Langis, and felt more than a little guilty in that quarter; he had not +written to him, having nothing satisfactory to tell him. He could +see the young man waiting in vain, at the Hotel Steinbock. To pass +a fortnight at Chur is a torture that the most robust constitution +scarcely can endure, and it is an increased torture to watch every +evening and every morning for a letter that never comes. M. Moriaz +resolved to open hostilities, to begin a new assault on the impregnable +place. He was seeking in his mind for a beginning for his first phrase. +He had just found it, when suddenly Antoinette said to him, in a low, +agitated, but distinct voice: “I have a question for you. What would you +think if I should some day marry M. Abel Larinski?” + +M. Moriaz started up, and his cane, slipping from his hand, rolled to +the bottom of the declivity. He looked at his daughter, and said to +her: “I beg of you to repeat what you just said to me. I fear I have +misunderstood you.” + +She answered in a firmer voice, “I am curious to know what you would +think if I should marry, some day or other, Count Larinski.” + +He was startled, thunderstruck. He never had foreseen that such a +catastrophe could occur, nor had the least suspicion that anything had +passed between his daughter and M. Larinski. Of all the ideas that had +suggested themselves to him, this seemed the least admissible, the most +improbable and ridiculous. After a long silence, he said to Antoinette, +“You want to frighten me--this is not serious.” + +“Do you dislike M. Larinski?” she asked. + +“Certainly not; I by no means dislike him. He has good manners, he +speaks well, and I must acknowledge that he had a very graceful way of +taking me from off my rock, where I should still be had it not been +for him. I am grateful to him for it; but, from that to giving him my +daughter, there is a wide margin. If he wanted me to give him a medal he +should have it.” + +“Let us talk seriously,” said she. “What objections have you to make?” + +“First, M. Larinski is a stranger, and I mistrust strangers. Then, +I know him but slightly. I naturally demand additional information. +Finally, I own that the state of his affairs--” + +“Ah! that is the main point,” she interrupted. “He is poor; that is his +crime, which he has not disguised. How differently we think! I have some +fortune; its only advantage that I can see is that it makes me free to +marry the man I esteem, though he be poor.” + +“And perhaps a little because of that very reason,” interrupted M. +Moriaz, in his turn. “Come, I entreat you, let me explain the anxieties +arising from my miserable good sense. M. Larinski has related his +history to us. Frankly, do you not think that it is rather that--what +shall I say--of an adventurer? The word shocks you--I take it back--but +you must admit that this Pole belongs to the--ambulatory family.” + +“Or family of heroes,” she replied. + +“That is it, of wandering heroes. I wish all manner of good to heroes, +although I never have clearly discovered their use. At all events, I +am not sure that they are the best qualified men in the world to make a +wife happy, and I intend that my daughter shall be happy.” + +“You are not convinced as I am that M. Larinski has a superior mind, and +a heart of gold?” + +“A heart of gold! I should be glad to believe it. I have no reason to +doubt it; but many very skilful persons are deceived by false jewellery. +Ah! my dear, if you were better versed in chemistry, you would know +how easy it is to manufacture a false trinket. Formerly, after having +cleaned the piece to be gilded, a gold amalgam was applied. Now, the +brass or copper trinket is steeped in a solution of perchloride of +gold and bicarbonate of potash, and in less than a minute the thing +is accomplished. It is called gilding by immersion. There is another +process in which galvanism--But let us admit that M. Larinski’s heart is +real gold. In the purest gold there is usually some alloy, to dispense +with which resort must be had to the cupel. Do you not know what a cupel +is? It is a small capsule or cup of a porous substance, used in the +refining process, and possessing the property of absorbing the fused +oxides and retaining the refined metal. What is the proportion of lead +or of gold ore in M. Larinski’s heart? Neither you nor I know.” + +She was no longer listening; her chin in her hand, her glances wandered +over the glade. He touched her arm gently to rouse her, and said: “It is +all over? You love him?” + +“Why will you make me say so?” she replied, blushing. + +“And he has declared himself? He has dared----” + +“He has dared nothing. Ah! how little you know him! If you were to offer +me to him, his pride would say no, and I would have to go down on my +knees to get the better of his refusal.” + +“We will say, at once, that he is unique, that he is a marvel, that +there is not a second Pole like him; the mould has been broken. And yet +are you sure that he loves you?” + +She replied by a motion of the head. + +“I should confess,” he resumed, “that the passion that is called the +grand passion is for me a sealed letter, the mystery of mysteries. I +am completely ignorant of it. Yet that did not prevent my marrying, +and making a choice that brought me great happiness. Your method is +different, and I must believe that you have yielded to an irresistible +force. It seems to me, however, that resistance can always be made. You +have will, character--” + +She interrupted him, murmuring, “It is either he or no one.” + +“Oh! if it comes to that,” he continued, “you are of age, and mistress +of your actions; there is nothing for me but to submit. Still, it will +be painful to you, I like to believe, to marry in opposition to my +wishes.” + +“Do you doubt it? I am willing not to marry.” + +“Bad solution! It is worse than the other. Let us come to terms. The +positive has its place only in science. It is absolutely true that borax +is a salt composed of boracic acid and soda. Beyond such facts all is +uncertain. Does this happy man surmise the sentiments he has inspired?” + +“I tell you that you do not know him? Do you take him for a coxcomb? +When he came this morning to announce his departure, his serious +intention was to bid us an eternal farewell, and never to see me again.” + +“A most excellent idea that,” sighed M. Moriaz. “Unfortunately, you +represented to him that it took but two hours to go from Paris to +Cormeilles.” + +“I had trouble to persuade him of it.” + +“Well, since the matter stands thus, nothing is yet lost. You know, my +dear, that my physician advised me to beware of abrupt transitions, and +not to change too suddenly from the keen air of Engadine to the heavy +atmosphere of the plains. On leaving Saint Moritz, we will descend +five hundred metres lower, and remain three weeks at Churwalden; +consequently, we will not be in Paris for a month. You will employ this +month in somewhat calming your imagination. It is very easy for it to +become excited in these mountain-holes, without taking into account the +wearisomeness of hotel-life. From the very day after our arrival you +took a dislike to the paper in our little _salon_, and its squares, I +confess, are very ugly. In every square, a thrush stretching out +its neck to peck a currant. Two hundred thrushes and two hundred +currants--it was enough to weary you to death. Suddenly there appears a +Pole--” + +“The thrushes had nothing to do with it,” she replied, smiling. “A month +hence I shall say as I do to-day. ‘It is either he or no one.’ And you +shall choose.” + +“Do not repeat that formula, I beg. Fixed resolves are the prison-house +of the will. Promise me to reflect; reflection is an excellent thing. +One thing more--grant me in advance what I am going to ask you.” + +“It is granted.” + +“You have a godmother--” + +“Ah! now we are coming to the point,” she added. + +“You cannot deny that Mme. De Lorcy is a woman of the world, a woman +of good sense, a woman of experience, who is deeply interested in your +welfare--” + +“And who has decided from time immemorial, that I can only be happy on +condition that I marry her nephew, M. Camille Langis.” + +“Well, I admit that she is partial. That is no reason why we should not +send her our Pole. She will inspect him, she will tell us her opinion; +it will be a new element in the argument.” + +“Ah! I know her opinion without asking it. This woman of experience +and good sense is incapable of recognising merit in a man who is +sufficiently impertinent to make Mlle. Moriaz love him, without having +at least fifty thousand livres a year to offer her.” + +“What does that matter? We will let her speak--we need not question her, +an oracle; but she knows false jewellery. If she discover--” + +“I would require proofs,” she interrupted, quickly. + +“And if she furnish them?” + +She was silent an instant, then she said: “Let it be so; do as you +please.” + +With these words they ended the conversation; then arose, and retook +the road to Saint Moritz. M. Moriaz scarcely had reached there, when +he entered a carriage to drive to Cellarina, provided with a portfolio +given him by Antoinette. He found M. Larinski busy strapping his trunks, +and waiting for the mail-coach that made the journey between Samaden and +Chur by the Col du Julier. + +M. Moriaz expressed his regret at having missed his visit, and asked if +he would consent to charge himself with a commission for his daughter, +who desired to send to her godmother, Mme. De Lorcy, a sketch of Saint +Moritz. + +“Cheerfully,” coldly replied Count Abel, and he promised, so soon as he +reached Paris, to send the portfolio to Maisons Lafitte. + +“Do better than that,” rejoined M. Moriaz, “and carry your good-nature +so far as to take it yourself to its address. Mme. de Lorcy is an +amiable woman, who will be charmed to make your acquaintance, and hear +from you of us.” + +The count bowed with a submissive air. There was so little ardour in +this submission that M. Moriaz queried if his daughter had not been +dreaming, if M. Larinski was as much in love with her as she fancied. +He had not read the anonymous letter; Antoinette had refrained from even +mentioning it to him. + +He was returning to Saint Moritz, when he met midway a pedestrian, who, +lost in thought, neither looked at him nor recognised him. M. Moriaz +ordered the coachman to stop, sprang out of the carriage, went up to the +traveller whom he seized by both shoulders, exclaiming: + +“What, you! you again! I can go nowhere in Grisons without meeting you. +I ask as I did at Chur, ‘Where do you come from?’” + +“Did you think I would stay there forever?” rejoined M. Camille Langis, +reproachfully. “You have not kept your word, you have forgotten me; you +did not write to me. I am tired of waiting, so here I am.” + +“And where are you going?” + +“To the Hotel Badrutt, to plead my own cause, because my advocate has +failed me.” + +“Ah! you have chosen an excellent time,” cried M. Moriaz; “you have +a real genius for arriving in season. Go, hurry, plead, moan, weep, +entreat; you will be well received; you can come and tell me all about +it.” + +“What do you mean?” asked Camille; “is it all over? Have you spoken, and +did she silence you?” + +“Not at all; she listened to me, without enthusiasm, it is true, but +with attention and deference, when suddenly--Ah! my poor friend, how can +it be helped? This sad world is full of accidents and Poles.” + +M. Langis looked at him in amazement, as if to ask for an explanation. +M. Moriaz continued: “Do yourself justice. You are the most honest +fellow upon earth, I grant; you are a charming man, and an engineer of +the highest merit. But, unfortunately, there is no mystery of blood +and tears in your existence; you are perfectly unpretending, frank, +unaffected, and as transparent as crystal; in short, you are not a +stranger. Had you a delicate, blond, and romantic mother, and do you +wear her portrait on your heart? have you unfathomable green eyes? have +you adventures to relate? have you visited California? have you swept +the streets of San Francisco? have you exchanged bullets with the +Cossacks? have you been killed in three combats and in ten skirmishes? +I fear you have not even thought of dying once. Have you tried all +professions, without succeeding in one? have you invented a gun which +burst? and, above all, are you as poor as a church-mouse? What! is it +possible that you possess none of these fine advantages, and yet are +audacious enough to ask me for my daughter’s hand?” + +M. Moriaz ended this harangue as the Samaden mail-coach passed. Count +Abel, seated on the outside, bowed and waved his hand to them. + +“Look well at that man,” said M. Moriaz to Camille, “for he is the +enemy.” + +And then, instead of giving him the remaining information that the youth +desired, he said: + +“Go away and forget; it is the best thing that you can do.” + +“You do not know me yet,” replied Camille. “I am obstinate, I fire to +the last cartridge. I will follow your steps. Oh! don’t be afraid, I +will lie--deceive Antoinette; let her think that I have relinquished my +claims. I shall pay her only a friendly visit; but my eyes hunger to see +her, and I will see her.” + +The morning of the following day the enemy arrived at Chur, whence he +proceeded to Berne. Deponent saith not why he failed to turn aside at +Soleure, as he had expressed his intention of doing in order to pay +tribute there to the memory of the great Kosciuszko. The facts of +the case are, that from Berne he went direct to Lausanne, and that +immediately on reaching there he hastened to the Saxon Casino. When he +seated himself at the gaming-table, he experienced a violent palpitation +of the heart. His ears tingled, his brain was on fire, and the cold +sweat started out on his forehead. He cast fierce glances right and +left; he seemed to see in his partner’s eyes his past, his future, and +Mlle. Moriaz life-size. Fortune made amends for the harshness she had +shown him at Milan. After a night of anguish and many vicissitudes, at +daybreak Count Abel had twenty thousand francs in his pocket. It was +sufficient to pay his debts, which he was anxious to do, and to enable +him to await without too much impatience the moment for executing his +projects. + +He left the casino, his face flushed and radiant; he was so joyful that +he became tender and affectionate, and, had M. Guldenthal himself come +in his way, he could have embraced him. + + + +CHAPTER IV + +Although he had said nothing about it to Mlle. Moriaz in narrating to +her his voyages and Odysseys, Count Abel was already acquainted +with Paris, having made several long sojourns there. This may seem +improbable. Gone in his early youth to America, he had not recrossed the +ocean until he returned to fight in Poland; since then he had lived in +Roumania and Vienna. Where, then, had he found time to visit France? +Certain it is, however, that he was at home on the boulevard, and that +he knew well the streets that led to the places where Paris amuses +itself; but he had no thoughts now for amusements. Notwithstanding the +fact that his purse was full, he proposed to live a retired and austere +life. He found suitable apartments in one of the lodging-houses of Rue +Mont-Thabor. These apartments, on the fifth floor, were pleasant but +modest; they consisted of two rooms having a view of the chestnut-trees +in the garden of the Tuileries. The portress was a nice woman, whose +good-will Count Abel gained on the very first day. He considered +it useful, in the affairs of this world, to be at peace with both +conscience and portress. + +After getting installed in his garret his first care was to write to M. +Moses Guldenthal. He informed him that he was ready to refund interest +and capital, and he commissioned him to pay off some trifling debts that +he had left in Vienna; he also desired him to send him the bracelet, +which he hoped to make use of. He felt a genuine relief in the +thought that he owed no man anything, that his condition was clear and +transparent. When a man is proud he likes to be out of debt, and when he +is clever he foresees all possible contingencies. His second care was to +go to the Passage de l’Opera and buy a bouquet for sixty francs, which +he carried to No. 27 Rue Mouffetard. He had one of those memories that +retain everything and let nothing escape them. This bouquet--the most +beautiful Mlle. Galet ever had received--caused her great astonishment. +She did not know to whom to attribute it, the modest donor having +escaped from the effusions of her gratitude by not making himself known. +She supposed that Mlle. Moriaz had sent it to her, and, as she had taste +for composition, she wrote to her a four page letter of thanks. + +Count Abel had not forgotten that he was the bearer of a commission from +Mlle Moriaz. A few days after his arrival, he decided to go to Maisons, +but to take the longest route there; he wanted to see Cormeilles in +passing, and a certain villa in which he was particularly interested. +He went in the Argenteuil cars, got out at Sannois, climbed that pretty +hill that commands the loveliest of views, and stopped at the inn +of Trouillet mills in order to breakfast there. The morning was +charming--it was in the middle of August--and the approach of autumn +was already felt, which enhances the beauty of all things. The sky was +flecked with small gray clouds; a light, silvery mist hung on the +brow of the hills; in two places the Seine appeared glittering in the +sunshine. Abel breakfasted in the open air; while eating he gazed on the +sky and on the great garden-plain extending at his feet, covered with +vegetables, grape-vines, and asparagus, interspersed with fruit-trees. +The wooded hills bordering it formed an admirable frame. In his present +mood Count Larinski was charmed with the landscape, which was at once +grand and smiling. Then he questioned himself as to how much a bed of +asparagus would yield at the gates of Paris, and, having finished his +calculation, he surveyed with the eye of a poet the heather and broom +that surrounded him. He decided that the Sannois Hill is more beautiful +than Koseg; and indeed it is not necessary to be in love with Mlle. +Moriaz to hold that opinion. + +After having had a good breakfast, he again set out, following the crest +of the hill and going through the woods. As he approached Cormeilles, he +saw in the distance, beyond a grove of oaks, the white walls of a pretty +villa. His heart beat faster, and by a sort of divination he said within +himself, “That must be it.” He inquired; he had made no mistake. Five +minutes later he stood before a railing, through which he saw a green +lawn. At the entrance of the porter’s lodge a woman sat knitting. + +“Can you tell me where M. Moriaz lives?” asked Count Larinski. + +“Here, monsieur,” she replied; “but M. Moriaz is absent; he will not +return for a month. If you come from a distance, monsieur,” she added, +graciously, “perhaps you would like to rest awhile on the terrace. The +view is beautiful.” + +This hospitable reception seemed a good omen, for, sensible as he was, +he believed in presentiments and prognostics. He entered without waiting +to be urged. When he had crossed the lawn he stood facing two detached +buildings, separated by a mass of verdure: to the right, an old +summer-house, used from time immemorial for M. Moriaz’s collections, +laboratory, and library; to the left, a new two-story house, part stone, +part brick, built in an elegant but unobtrusive style, without ornament +or pretension, and flanked by a turret covered with ivy and clematis, +which served for a dove-cote. The house was not a palace, but there was +an air about it of well-being, comfort, and happiness. In looking at +it you felt like saying, “The inmates here ought to be happy!” This was +about what Count Abel said to himself; in fact, he could hardly refrain +from exclaiming, “Dieu! how happy I shall be here!” The situation, the +terrace, the garden, everything pleased him infinitely. It seemed to him +that the air here was fresher, more delightful than elsewhere, that it +was exhilarating in the extreme; it seemed to him that the grass on +the lawn was greener than any grass he ever had seen before, that the +flowers in the carefully tended borders exhaled an unusually delicious +perfume. He espied an open window on the ground-floor. He drew near it; +the room into which he gazed, full of _bric-a-brac_ of exquisite choice, +was Mlle. Moriaz’s study. There was in the appearance of this little +sanctuary, hung with white silken drapery, and as elegant as the +divinity whose favourite tarrying-place it was, something of purity, +chastity, and maidenliness. It opened its windows to the fresh breezes +and to the perfume of the flowers; but it seemed as if nothing could +penetrate there that was coarse or suspicious; that the entrance was +forbidden to all doubtful or malignant beings who might have a secret +crime to hide, to all pilgrims through life who had travelled its +highways and had brought hence dust and mud on the soles of their +shoes. Strange to say, Count Abel experienced an attack of timidity and +embarrassment. He felt that he was indiscreet; he averted his eyes and +went away. + +This impression was soon dispelled. He regained his assurance, and +walked around the terrace twice, treading the gravel with the step of a +conqueror, making it feel the full weight of his foot. He finally seated +himself on a bench; he had the nonchalant attitude of a man who is at +home. Five or six doves were billing and cooing on the ledge of the +roof; he could readily understand that they were talking of him, and +that they were saying, “Here he is--we have been waiting for him.” A +beautiful Angora cat, white as snow, with delicate nose and silky hair, +came, arching her back and waving her bushy tail, from out a grove, +and advanced towards him. She examined him curiously an instant, rubbed +herself against the bench, and then sat coquettishly at the feet of the +intruder. He caressed her, saying: “You are as white and graceful as +your mistress; you are an intelligent animal; you understand, my dear, +that I come from her. Shall I tell you a secret? She loves Count Abel +Larinski.” + +With these words he rose and left, after thanking the portress, +who would have been extremely astonished had she been aware of the +reflections that had just been occupying his mind. He went a short +distance on the highway, then finding, to the right, a road that led to +Cormeilles, he took it, but soon struck into a path that wound through +the woods. He was sorry to leave a spot that spoke vividly to his heart, +and even more so to his imagination. He seated himself on the turf, in +the midst of a grove of oaks; around him stretched a blooming heath. +Through an opening in the grove, he could see Saint-Germain, its +forests, and the Seine glittering in the sunshine, with the two bridges +of Maisons Lafitte spanning it with their arches. Through another +opening he caught a glimpse, to his left, of the proud bastions of +Mont-Valerien, and, in the distance, Paris, the Arc de l’Etoile, the +gilt dome of the Invalides, and the smoke of the factories rising slowly +in the air, then by turns remaining stiff and motionless, or being swept +away by the wind. + +The place was retired, solitary, very still. No sound was to be heard +save the singing of a lark, and at intervals the melancholy cry of a +peacock. Abel Larinski was overcome by a mysterious emotion; he felt a +voluptuous languor steal through his veins. He watched the smoke over +Paris, and he saw floating in it an ethereal form whose face was partly +concealed by a red hood. It smiled on him, and he read in this smile a +promise of all the joys of the land of Canaan. + +He turned away his eyes, partially closing them, and there appeared +another form to him--in truth, very different from the first. It was +that of a man whom he had known intimately, of a man whom he had deeply +loved. In vain the lark sang aloud, in vain the peacock wailed--Abel +Larinski no longer heard them. He was thinking of a certain Samuel +Brohl; he was reviewing in his mind all the history of this Samuel, a +man who never had had a secret from him. This history was quite as sad a +one as that of Abel Larinski, but much less brilliant, much less heroic. +Samuel Brohl prided himself neither on being a patriot nor a paladin; +his mother had not been a noble woman with the smile of an angel, and +the thought never had occurred to him of fighting for any cause or any +person. He was not a Pole, although born in a Polish province of +the Austrian Empire. His father was a Jew, of German extraction, as +indicated by his name, which signifies a place where one sinks in the +mire, a bog, swamp, or something of that nature; and he kept a tavern +in a wretched little market-town near the eastern frontier of Galicia--a +forlorn tavern, a forlorn tavern-keeper. Although always on the alert to +sell adulterated brandy to his neighbour, and to seize the opportunity +to lend him money on usury, he did not thrive: he was a coward of whose +timidity every one took advantage to make him disgorge his ill-gotten +gains. His creed consisted in three doctrines: he firmly believed that +the arts of lying well, of stealing well, and of receiving a blow in the +face without apparently noticing it, were the most useful arts to human +life; but, of the three, the last was the only one that he practised +successfully. His intentions were good, but his intellect deficient. +This arrant rogue was only a petty knave that any one could dupe. + +Abel Larinski transported himself, in thought, to the tavern in which +Samuel Brohl had spent his first youth, and which was as familiar to him +as though he had lived there himself. The smoky hovel rose before him: +he could smell the odour of garlic and tallow; he could see the drunken +guests--some seated round the long table, others lying under it--the +damp and dripping walls, and the rough, dirty ceiling. He remembered a +panel in the wainscoting against which a bottle had been broken, in the +heat of some dispute; it had left a great stain of wine that resembled +a human face. He remembered, too, the tavern-keeper, a little man with a +dirty, red beard, whose demeanour was at once timid and impudent. He saw +him as he went and came, then saw him suddenly turn, lift the end of his +caftan and wipe his cheek on it. What had happened? An insolvent +debtor had spit in his face; he bore it smilingly. This smile was more +repulsive to Count Abel than the great stain that resembled a human +face. + +“Children should be permitted to choose their fathers,” he thought. And +yet this poor Samuel Brohl came very near living as happy and contented +in the paternal mire as a fish in water. Habit and practice reconcile +one even to dirt; and there are people who eat and digest it. What made +Samuel Brohl think of reading Shakespeare? Poets are corrupters. + +The way it happened was this. Samuel had picked up, somewhere, a volume +which had dropped from a traveller’s pocket. It was a German translation +of _The Merchant of Venice_. He read it, and did not understand it; he +reread it, and ended by understanding it. It produced a wild confusion +of ideas in his mind; he thought that he was becoming insane. Little by +little, the chaos became less tumultuous; order began to reign, light to +dawn. Samuel Brohl felt that he had had a film over his eyes, and that +it was now removed. He saw things that he never had seen before, and +he felt joy mingled with terror. He learned _The Merchant of Venice_ +by heart. He shut himself up in the barn, so that he might cry out with +Shylock: “Hath not a Jew eyes? hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, +senses, affections, passions? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you +tickle us, do we not laugh? if you poison us, do we not die? and if you +wrong us, shall we not revenge?” He repeated, too, with Lorenzo: + + “Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven + Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold. + There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st + But in his motion like an angel sings, + Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins: + Such harmony is in immortal souls; + But whilst this muddy vesture of decay + Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.” + +Samuel sometimes rose at night to watch the heavens, and he fancied he +heard the voices of the “young-eyed cherubins.” He dreamed of a world +where Jessicas and Portias were to be met, of a world where Jews were +as proud as Shylock, as vindictive as Shylock, and, as Shylock, ate the +hearts of their enemies for revenge. He also dreamed, poor fool, that +there was in Samuel Brohl’s mind or bosom an immortal soul, and that +in this soul there was music, but that he could not hear it because the +muddy vesture of decay too grossly closed it in. Then he experienced a +feeling of disgust for Galicia, for the tavern, for the tavern-keeper, +and for Samuel Brohl himself. An old schoolmaster, who owned a +harpsichord, taught him to play on it, and, believing he was doing +good, lent him books. One day, Samuel modestly expressed to his father +a desire to go to the gymnasium at Lemberg to learn various things +that seemed good to him to know. It was then that he received from the +paternal hand a great blow, which made him see all the stars of heaven +in broad daylight. Old Jeremiah Brohl had taken a dislike to his son +Samuel Brohl, because he thought he saw something in his eyes that +seemed to say that Samuel despised his father. + +“Poor devil!” murmured Count Abel, picking up a pebble and tossing it +into the air. “Fate owes him compensation, it has dealt so roughly with +him thus far. He fell from the frying-pan into the fire; he exchanged +his servitude for a still worse slavery. When he left the land of Egypt, +he fancied he saw the palms of the promised land. Alas! it was not long +before he regretted Egypt and Pharaoh! Why was not this woman Portia? +why was she neither young nor beautiful?” And he added: “Ah! old fairy, +you made him suffer!” + +It seemed to Count Larinski that this woman, this ugly fairy who had +made Samuel Brohl suffer so much, stood there, before him, and that she +scanned him from head to foot, as a fairy, whether old or young, might +scan a worm. She had an imperious, contemptuous smile on her lips, the +smile of a czarina; so Catharine II smiled, when she was dissatisfied +with Potemkin, and said to herself, “I made him what he is, and +to-morrow I can ruin him.” “Yes, it was she, it was surely she,” thought +Count Larinski. “I cannot mistake. I saw her five weeks ago, in the +Vallee du Diable; she made me tremble!” + +This woman who had taken Samuel Brohl from out of the land of Egypt, and +had showered attentions upon him, was a Russian princess. She owned an +estate of Podolia, and chance would have it that one day, in passing, +she stopped at the tavern where young Samuel was growing up in the +shadow of the tabernacle. He was then sixteen. In spite of his squalid +rags, she was struck by his figure. She was a woman of intelligence, and +had no prejudices. “When he is well washed and cared for,” she thought, +“when he is divested of his native impurities, when he has seen the +world and had communication with honest people, he certainly will be a +noble fellow.” She made him talk, and found him intelligent; she liked +intelligent men. She made him sing, assured herself that he had a voice; +she adored music. She questioned him; he told her all his misery, and +while he talked she said to herself: “No, I do not mistake; he has a +future before him; in two or three years he will be superb. Three years +is not long: the gardener who grafts a young tree is often condemned to +wait longer than that.” When he had ended his narrative, she told him +that she was in want of a secretary, that she had had several, but that +she had soon tired of them, on account of their not having the desired +qualifications; she asked him if he would like to accept the position. +He replied only by pointing his finger to his father, who was smoking +his pipe on the door-step. A moment later she was closeted with Jeremiah +Brohl. + +She at once proposed to him to buy his son; he dropped his arms in +astonishment, then felt delighted and charmed. He declared, at first, +that his son was not for sale; and then he insinuated that if ever he +did sell him he would sell him dear; he was, according to his opinion, +merchandise of the best quality, a rich and rare article. He raised his +demands ridiculously; she exclaimed; he affirmed he could not put them +lower, that he had his terms, and that he always sold at a fixed price. +They disputed a long time; she was about to give up; he yielded, and +they ended by making the transaction. She sent for Samuel and said to +him: “My boy, you belong to me--I have bought you for cash. You are +satisfied with the bargain, are you not?” + +He was stupefied to learn that he had a commercial value; he never had +suspected it. He wanted very much to know what he was worth; but the +princess was discreet upon the subject, and desired that he should +believe that he had cost her a fabulous sum. After reflection, he made +his conditions; he stipulated that he should belong to himself for three +years, which time he would employ in study and in satisfying a multitude +of curious longings. + +She readily consented, as that had been her own intention: it would take +fully three years before the fruit was ripe and ready to be served at +the princely table. She gave him instructions and advice, all bearing +the stamp of a superior mind; she understood the world, the state of +public affairs, and physiology, all that can be learned, and all that +cannot be learned. Thus Samuel Brohl set out, his pocket well +filled, for the University of Prague, which he soon left to settle at +Heidelberg, whence he went to Bonn, then to Berlin, then to Paris. He +was restless, he did not know what he wanted, but wherever he went he +studied semiquavers, naturals, and flats; it was part of the conditions. + +The princess was herself a great traveller; two or three times a year +Samuel Brohl received a visit from her. She questioned him, examined +him, felt him, as we feel a peach to be certain it is ripe. Samuel was +very happy; he was free, he enjoyed his life, he did as he pleased. +One single thing spoiled his happiness; when he looked in the glass, he +would sometimes say within himself: “These are the features of a man who +is sold, and the woman who bought him is neither young nor beautiful.” + Several times he determined to learn a trade, so that he might be in a +position to refund the debt and break the bargain. But he never did. He +was both ambitious and idle. He wanted to fly at once; he had a horror +of beginnings of apprenticeships. His early education had been so +neglected that in order to recover lost time he would have been +compelled to study hard--all the more so because, although he was +quick-witted, and had a marvellous facility for entering into the +thoughts of others, his own stock was poor; he had no ideas of his own, +nor individuality of mind. He possessed a collection of half-talents; +even in music, he was incapable of originating; when he attempted to +compose, his inspirations proved mere reminiscences. He did himself +justice; he felt that, strive as he might, his half-talents never would +aid him to secure the first position, and he disdained the second. In +fact, what he most needed was will, which, after all, makes the man. He +tried to fling himself from his horse, which carried him where he did +not desire to go; but he felt that his feet held firm in the stirrup; he +had not strength to disengage them, and he remained in the saddle. Not +being able to be a great man, he abandoned himself to his fate, which +condemned him to be only a knave. At the expiration of his term of +freedom, he declared himself solvent, and the princess took possession +of her merchandise. + +“Yes, poets are corrupters,” thought Count Abel Larinski. “If Samuel +Brohl never had read _The Merchant of Venice_, or _Egmont_, a tragedy in +five acts, or Schiller’s ballads, he would have been resigned to his new +position; he would have seen its good sides, and would have eaten +and drunk his shame in peace, without experiencing any uncomfortable +sensations; but he had read the poets, and he grew disgusted, nauseated. +He was dying with desire to get away, and the princess suspected it. She +kept him always in sight, she held him close, she paid him quarterly, +shilling by shilling, his meagre allowance. She said to herself: ‘So +long as he has nothing, he cannot escape.’ She mistook; he did escape, +and he was so afraid of being retaken that for some time he hid like a +criminal, pursued by the police. He fancied that this woman was always +on his track. It was then, for the first time, that he felt hunger, for +they eat in the land of Egypt. He lived by all sorts of expedients, +and cursed the poets. One day he learned that his father was dead; he +hastened to the old tavern in order to succeed to the inheritance. He +was not aware that for two years old Jeremiah Brohl had been in his +dotage, and that his debtors mocked him while devouring his substance. A +fine inheritance! it was diminished to two or three rickety chairs, +four cracked walls that scarcely could stand upright, and some jewellery +concealed in a hiding-place that Samuel knew of. Old Jeremiah never had +been able to dispose of it for the price he required, and he preferred +to keep it rather than lower his charge. He had principles, which was +well for Samuel, as the jewellery was useful to him. He sold a necklace, +and set out for Bucharest, some one having told him that he certainly +would make his fortune there. He gave music-lessons; this wearisome +profession did not suit him, he could not endure the constraint and the +regular hours. The boys plagued him--he would willingly have wrung their +necks; the girls treated him like a dog--they never thought of his being +handsome, because they suspected him of being a Jew. Why had he gone +to Bucharest--a city where all Germans are Jews, and where Jews are +not considered men? Although he had earned a little money, he grew +melancholy, and he began to think seriously of killing himself.” + +Count Abel Larinski leaned forward, plucked a spray of heather, tickled +his lips with it, and began to laugh; then, striking his breast, he +said, in an undertone, “Thank God, Samuel Brohl is not dead, for he is +here!” + +He spoke the truth: Samuel Brohl was not dead, and life was of value to +him, since he had met Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz in the cathedral in Chur. +It was Samuel Brohl who had come to Cormeilles, and who was seated, at +this moment, in the midst of a grove of oaks. Perhaps the lark that he +had heard singing a quarter of an hour before had recognised him, for it +had ceased singing. The peacock continued its screaming, and its doleful +cries sounded like a warning. Yes, the man seated among the heather, +employed in narrating his own history to himself, was indeed Samuel +Brohl, and the proof of this was that he had laughed, while Count Abel +Larinski never laughed; moreover, for four years the latter had been out +of the world. The second reason is, perhaps, the better. + +He whom, with or without his consent, we shall call henceforth Samuel +Brohl, reproached himself for this access of levity, as he would have +reproached himself for a false note that had escaped him in executing a +Mozart sonata. He resumed his grave, dignified air, in order to salute +with a wave of his hand the phantom that had just appeared before him. +It was the same that he had summoned one evening at the Hotel Steinbock, +and treated there as an addle-brain, as a visionary, and even as an +imbecile; but this time he gave him a more indulgent and gracious +reception. He bore him no ill-will, he wished him well, he was under +essential obligations to him, and Samuel Brohl was no ingrate. + +“Ah! well, my poor friend, I am here,” he said, in that mute language +that phantoms understand. “I have taken your place, and almost your +form; I play your part in the great fair of this world, and, although +your noble body has rested for four years, six feet underground, thanks +to me you still live. I always have had a most sincere admiration for +you. I considered you a phenomenon, a prodigy. You were courageous, +devoted, generosity itself; you esteemed honour above all the gold +deposits in California; you detested all coarse thoughts and doubtful +actions; your mother had nourished you in all sublime follies. You +were a true chevalier, a true Pole, the last Don Quixote in this age of +sceptics, plunderers, and interlopers. Blessed be the chance that made +us acquainted! You lived retired, solitary, unknown, in a miserable +hovel just outside of Bucharest. So goes the world! You were in +hiding--you who had nothing to hide from either God or man--you who +deserved a crown. Alas! the Russian Government had the poor taste not to +appreciate your exploits, and you feared that it would claim and obtain +your extradition. At our first meeting I pleased you, and you took me +into your friendship; I spoke Polish, and you loved music. I became your +intimate friend, your sole companion, your confidant. You must grant +that you owe to me the last happy moments of your short existence. I +soon knew your origin, the history of your youth, of your enterprises, +and of your misfortunes. You initiated me into the secret of the great +invention that you had just made; you explained to me in detail the +mechanism of your famous gun. I was intelligent; I understood, or +thought I understood. This gun, you said, would one day make my +fortune, for, on your own account, you had renounced all hope; you had +heart-disease, and you knew that you were condemned to a speedy end. My +imagination was kindled. Through my entreaty you decided to leave with +me for Vienna. This expedition was fatal to you, but I swear to you I +did not foresee it.” + +Samuel crossed his hands on his knee; then he continued: “May my tongue +cleave to the roof of my mouth, may my blood cease to flow in my veins, +may the marrow dry up in my bones, if ever I forget to be grateful for +what I owe to you, Abel Larinski, or cease to remember the forlorn hovel +in which we passed the first night of our journey! You were attacked by +suffocation. You had only time to call and wake me. I hastened to you. +You gave me, in a dying voice, your last instructions. You delivered +into my hands your last fifty florins, which were as acceptable as an +orange would have been to the shipwrecked passengers of the Medusa. Then +you pointed with your finger to a box, in which were inclosed family +relics, letters, your journal, and papers. You said: ‘Destroy all that; +Poland is dead, let no one remember that I have lived!’ After that you +breathed your last. Well! I confess that I did not fulfil your orders. +I kept your mother’s portrait, the papers, all; and, in announcing your +decease to the police, I made them believe that the man who was dead was +named Samuel Brohl, and that Count Larinski still lived. What would you +have me do? The temptation was too great. Samuel Brohl had disgraceful +antecedents, he was base-born, he had been sold; there was a stain +on his past that never could be wiped away, and, as he had had the +misfortune to read the poets, it had come about that he often despised +himself. It was, indeed, time that he should be thrown into the shade, +and my joy was extreme to know that he was dead, and to feel that I was +alive. As soon as I succeeded in persuading myself that I was indeed +Count Abel Larinski, I was as happy as a child whose parents have +dressed him in new clothes, and who struts about to show them. With +your name I acquired a noble past; in thought, I roamed through it with +delight; I visited its every nook and corner, as a poor devil would make +the circuit of a park that he has just come to inherit. You bequeathed +me your relations, your adventures, your exploits. When you fought +for your country, I was there; when you received a gun-shot-wound near +Dubrod, it was into my flesh that the bullet penetrated. Of what do you +complain? Between friends is not everything in common? I left my own +skin, I entered yours; I was satisfied there, and desired to remain. +To-day I resemble you in everything; I assure you that if we were seen +together it would be difficult to tell us apart. I have assumed your +habits, your manners, your language, the poise of your head, your +playful melancholy, your pride, your opinions, all, even to the colour +of your hair and your handwriting. Abel Larinski, I have become you: I +mistake, I am more Pole, more Larinski, than you were yourself.” + +At this moment Samuel Brohl had a singular expression of countenance; +his gaze was fixed. He was no longer of this world--he conversed with a +spirit; but he was neither terrified nor awed, as was Hamlet in talking +to the shade of his father. He treated familiarly the shade of the +true Abel Larinski; it was precisely as we treat a partner that has +transacted business with us in the same firm. + +“It is very true, my dear Abel,” he continued, “that the principle of +partnership accomplishes wonders; one man alone is a small affair. But, +of all partnerships, the most useful and convenient is the one that +we have made together. The living and the dead can render each other +important services, and they never quarrel. You should be satisfied; you +play a fine role; you are the signature of the house. We will not speak +of your gun; that was a poor speculation, for which I scarcely can +pardon you. It was the fault of your disordered brain that we wandered +off on that bypath, but, thanks be to Heaven! we have at last gained +the highway. Five weeks ago we met a woman, and what a woman! She has +velvety-brown eyes, whence glances well forth like fresh and living +waters. To praise her grace properly, I must borrow the language of the +‘Song of Solomon’: ‘Thy lips, O my spouse! drop as the honey-comb; honey +and milk are under thy tongue; and the smell of thy garments is like the +smell of Lebanon. This thy stature is like to a palm-tree. Thou art all +fair, my love; there is no spot in thee. A garden inclosed is my sister, +my spouse: a spring shut up--a fountain sealed.’ Some day she will cry +out, with the Shulamite, ‘Let my beloved come into his garden, and +eat his pleasant fruits.’ She belongs to us, my dear Larinski--my dear +partner; she had yielded, and you and I share the honour of the victory. +I presented myself before her, and my presence did not displease her. I +related to her your history, as you would have related it yourself, +with delicacy and simplicity, neither adding nor omitting. Her heart was +touched; her heart was taken captive. You will wed her--she will bear +your name; but you will marry her by proxy, and I shall be your proctor. +I promise to consider myself your mandatory, or, to express it better, +you will own the property and I will have the usufruct. Never fear that +I shall forget what I owe to you, or the modesty proper to my estate.” + +At these words, he made a grand gesture, as if to banish the phantom +that he had conjured up, and that fled away trembling with sorrow, +shame, and indignation. The peacock cried anew a mournful shriek. +“Stupid bird!” thought Samuel Brohl, quaking with sudden dread. + +He looked at his watch, and reflected that the hour was advancing--that +he was losing time with the spirits. He rose hastily, and wended his way +toward Cormeilles; thence he wished to come upon a sunny path that led +to the banks of the Seine, and Sartrouville, the belfry of which was +plainly visible. When he reached the foot of the declivity, he turned +his head and saw, on the summit of the hill, through the space left +by the crooked branches of two plantains, a white wall, that seemed +to laugh amid the verdure, and a little higher the pointed roof of the +dove-cote, where Mlle. Moriaz’s doves had their nests. He did not need +to look long at this roof to recognise it. He threw a burning kiss +in the air--a kiss that was sent to the doves as well as to the +dove-cote--to the house as well as to the woman--to the woman as well as +the house. For the first time in his life, Samuel Brohl was in love; +but Samuel Brohl’s love differed from Abel Larinski’s. When they adore a +woman, be she as beautiful as a picture, the frame, if it is a rich one, +pleases them as much as the painting; and they propose to possess their +mistress with all her appendages and appurtenances. + + + +CHAPTER V + +Mme. de Lorcy was a woman of about fifty years of age, who still +possessed remains of beauty. She had been a widow for long years, and +never had thought of marrying again. Although her wedded life had been +a happy one, she considered that liberty is to be prized above all +else; she employed hers in a most irreproachable manner. She was +self-possessed, even better acquainted with numbers than with dress, and +managed her property herself, which was by no means a trifling thing to +do. Liking to make good use of her time, she thought to do it by busying +herself in the affairs of others. She had a real vocation for the +profession of a consulting lawyer. Usually her advice was sensible and +judicious--nothing better could be done than to follow it; only her +clients complained that she pronounced her sentences with too little +tenderness, without granting any appeal. She was good, charitable, but +lacked unction, and she had no sympathy with the illusions of others. A +German poet, in making his New-Year offerings, wishes that the rich may +be kind-hearted, that the poor may have bread, that the ladies may have +pretty dresses, that the men may have patience, that the foolish may get +a little reason, and that sensible people may grow poetic. Mme. de Lorcy +was kind-hearted, she had pretty dresses and a great deal of reason; +but her reason was wanting in poetry, and poetic people to whom she gave +advice required a good deal of patience to listen to the end. Those who +permitted themselves to despise her counsel, and who were happy after +their own fashion, incurred her lasting displeasure. She obstinately +asserted to them that their seeming happiness was all a deceit; that +they had fastened a stone about their necks; and that, without appearing +to do so, at the bottom of their hearts they bitterly repented. She +added, “It is not my fault; I told you, but you would not believe me.” + +Mme. de Lorcy had an almost maternal affection for her nephew, M. +Camille Langis. Confident that he could not be otherwise than successful +in a love-affair, she promised him that he should marry Mlle. Moriaz. To +be sure, he was rather young; but she had decided that the question of +age made no difference, and that in all else there was a perfect fitness +between the parties. M. Langis hesitated a long time about declaring +himself. He said to Mme. de Lorcy: “If she refuse me, I shall no +longer be able to see her; and so long as I can see her, I am only +half-wretched.” It was Mme. de Lorcy who forced him to draw his sword +and open the campaign, in which she was to act as second. This campaign +had not been a successful one. Deeply wounded at the refusal, which she +had in vain attempted to prevent, she was ready to force Mlle. Moriaz +into compliance. They made her believe, to pacify her, that the sentence +was not definite, or at least that a period of grace would be granted to +the condemned. M. Langis set out for Hungary, and he had now returned. +In the mean time, Antoinette had refused two offers. Mme. de Lorcy had +inferred this to be a favourable omen for her projects. Thus she felt +annoyance mingled with anger on receiving the following letter from M. +Moriaz: + +“DEAR MADAME: + +“You will be charmed to learn that I am extremely well. My cheeks are +full, my complexion florid, my legs as nimble as a chamois, my appetite +like that of an ogre. If ever you become anemic, which God forbid, you +should set out forthwith for Saint Moritz, and I shall soon have good +news from you. Saint Moritz is a place where you find what you want, but +you find, besides, what you do not want. I do not speak of bears; I have +not seen any, and should I meet one, I am strong enough to strangle it. +Besides, bears are taciturn animals, they never relate their histories, +and the only animals I fear are those that have the gift of narrating, +and that one is not allowed to strangle. I will say no more. Have I made +myself intelligible? You are so intelligent. + +“Apropos, Antoinette sends you a sketch or a painting, I do not know +which, that will be handed to you by Count Abel Larinski. He is a Pole, +of that there can be no doubt; you will perceive it at once. I wish him +well; he was obliging enough to extricate me from a breakneck position +into which I had foolishly thrust myself. That I have a pair of legs to +walk on, and a hand to write with, I owe to him. I recommend him to your +kind reception, and I beg you to get him to relate his history. He is +one of those who narrate, not every day, it is true, but when you +touch the right spring, he starts, and cannot be stopped. Seriously, M. +Larinski is no ordinary man; you will find pleasure in his acquaintance. +I have discovered that he is in rather embarrassed circumstances. He is +the son of an emigrant, whose property has been confiscated. His father +was a half fool, who made great attempts to cut a channel through +the Isthmus of Panama, and never succeeded in cutting his way through +anything. He was himself beginning to earn money in San Francisco, when, +in 1863, he gave everything up to go and fight against the Russians. +This enthusiastic patriot has since adopted the calling of an inventor, +in which he has been unsuccessful; he is now in search of a livelihood. +Do not think he will ask for anything; he is an hidalgo; he wraps +himself proudly in his poverty, as a Castilian does in his cloak. I am +interested in him; I want to assist him, give him a lift; but, first, I +wish to feel sure that he is worthy of my sympathy. Examine him closely, +sift him well; I trust your eyes rather than my own; I have the greatest +faith in your skill in this kind of valuation. + +“Antoinette sends you her most affectionate greetings. She adores Saint +Moritz; you would think that she had found something here which has +wrought a charm over her. For my own part, I am delighted to have +recovered my appetite, my sleep, and all the rest, and yet I regret +having come; can you reconcile that? Let me know as soon as possible +what you think of my Pole; but, pray do not condemn him unheard. No +hasty decision, I entreat; an expert is bound not to be influenced by +his prejudices, but to weigh his judgments as his words. Adieu, dear +madame; pity me in spite of my full cheeks.” + +Madame de Lorcy replied in these words, by return mail: + +“You are indeed innocent, my dear professor, and your finesse is but too +apparent; I could not help understanding. Is she, indeed so foolish. I +did not think her overwise; but here she astonishes me more than I would +have believed. You can tell her, for me--or rather don’t say anything to +her; I will only speak to you, I am too angry to reason with her. I will +see your Pole, I await him resolutely; but, in truth, I have seen him +already. I am well acquainted with him, I know him by heart; I have no +doubt that he is some impostor. I will examine him without prejudice, +with religious impartiality. You are so good as to remind me that an +expert suspends his judgment. I will hold my police force in reserve, +and I will let you know before long what I think of your adventurer. +Ah! yes, I do pity you, poor man. After all, however, you alone are to +blame; is it my fault that you did not know how to act? God bless you!” + +At the time when Samuel Brohl, seated amid the heather, in an oak-grove, +was conversing with phantoms, Mme. de Lorcy, alone in her _salon_, was +occupied with her needlework, and her thoughts, which revolved in a +circle, like a horse in a riding-school. She had for several days been +expecting Count Abel Larinski’s visit; she wondered at his want of +promptness, and suspected that he was afraid of her. This suspicion +pleased her. Several times she fancied she heard a man’s step in the +antechamber, at which she started nervously, and the rose-coloured +strings of her cap fluttered on her shoulders. + +Suddenly, while she was counting her stitches, with head bent down, some +one entered without her perceiving it, seized her hand, and, devoutly +kissing it, threw his hat on the table, and then dropped into a chair, +where he remained motionless, with his legs stretched out, and his eyes +riveted on the floor. + +“Oh! It is you, Camille,” exclaimed Mme. de Lorcy. “You come apropos. +Well?” + +“Well! yes, madame, that is it,” replied M. Langis; “and you see before +you the most unhappy of men. Why is your pond dry? I want to fling +myself into it head foremost.” + +Mme. de Lorcy laid down her embroidery, and crossed her arms. “So you +have returned?” said she. + +“Would to God I never had gone there! It is a land where poison is sold, +and I have drunk of it.” + +“Don’t abuse metaphors. You have seen her? What did you say to her?” + +“Nothing, madame--nothing of what is in my heart. I made her believe +that I had reflected, and changed my views; that I was entirely cured +of my foolish passion for her; that I was simply making her a friendly +visit. Yes, madame, I remained half a day with her, and during the half +day I never once betrayed myself. I convinced her that the mask was a +face. Tell me, conscientiously, have you ever read of a more heroic act +in Plutarch’s _Lives of Great Men_?” + +“She herself, what did she say to you?” + +“She was so enchanted, so delighted with the change, that she was dying +to embrace me.” + +“She shall pay for it. And he, did you see him?” + +“Just caught a glimpse of him, looked up to him as was befitting the +humility of my position. This fortunate man, this glorious mortal, was +enthroned on the top of the mail-coach.” + +“Is he really so fascinating?” + +“He has, I assure you, a certain look of deep profundity, and he bears +his exploits inscribed on his brow. What am I, to contend against him! +You must allow that I have the appearance of a school-boy. And yet, if +I were to boast. This road in Transylvania for which I had the contract +was by no means easy to construct. We had to cut through the solid +rock, working in the air, suspended by ropes. This perilous labour so +disheartened our workmen that some of them left us; to encourage the +rest, I was slung up like them, and like them handled the pickaxe. One +day, in the explosion of a charge a piece of stone struck the rope of +one of my men with such violence that it cut it as clean in two as the +edge of a razor would have done. The man fell--I believed him to be +lost; by a miracle, his clothes caught in some brushwood, to which he +succeeded in clinging. It was I who went to his assistance, and I swear +to you that in this rescue I proved the strength of my muscles, and ran +the risk twenty times of breaking my neck. The workmen had mistrusted me +on account of my youth; from that day, I can assure you, they held me in +respect.” + +“Did you relate this incident to Antoinette?” + +“What would have been the use? With women it does not suffice to be a +great man; you must have the look of one too.” And Camille Langis cried +out, clinching his hands: “Ah! madame, I entreat you, do you know where +I can procure a Polish head, a Polish mustache, a Polish smile? Pray, +where are these articles to be had, and what is their market price? I +will not haggle! O women! what a set you are--plague on you!” + +“And are aunts the same?” gravely asked Mme. de Lorcy. + +He answered more calmly: “No, madame, you are a woman without an equal, +and I name you every day in my prayers. You are my only resource, my +consolation, my counsel. Do not refuse me your precious instructions! +What ought I to do?” + +Mme. de Lorcy gazed up at the ceiling for an instant, and then said: +“Love elsewhere, my dear; abandon this foolish girl to her fate and her +Pole.” + +He started and replied: “You demand what is impossible. I am no longer +my own master; she has taken possession of me--she holds me. Love +elsewhere? Can you think of it? I detest her--I curse her--but I adore +her!” + +She rejoined: “You should not use hyperbole any more than metaphors. +Both are unsolid food. When you decide not to love, you will love no +more.” + +“That supposes that I have several hearts to choose from. I never +had but one, and that no longer belongs to me. So you refuse me your +advice?” + +“What advice would you have me give you before having seen M. +Larinski--before having taken the measure of this hero?” + +“What! you expect to see him?” + +“I am waiting for him to call, and I am sorry he keeps me waiting.” + +“Seriously, will you receive this man?” + +“I have been asked to examine him.” + +“I am lost, if you feel the need of hearing before condemning him. Our +most sacred duty is to be resolutely unjust towards the enemies of our +friends.” + +“Nonsense! I shall not be indulgent towards him.” + +“Do as you like; I have my plan.” + +“What is it?” + +“I shall seek some groundless quarrel with this contraband, this +poacher, and I will blow his brains out.” + +“A fine scheme, my dear Camille! And afterward, when you have killed +him, you will have gained a great deal. Have you confidence in me? I +have already begun to work for you. The Abbe Miollens, as you know, is +well acquainted in the society of Polish emigrants; I have sent to +him for information. I have also written to Vienna for intelligence +concerning him. Antoinette is foolish in forming such an acquaintance, +it must be admitted; but, in matters of honour, she is as delicate as +an ermine in tending the whiteness of her robe; if there be in M. +Larinski’s past a stain no larger than a ten-sou piece, she will forever +discard him. Let me act; be wise, do not blow out any one’s brains. +_Grand Dieu!_ what would become of us, if the only way to get rid of +people was by killing them?” + +As she pronounced these words a servant entered, bearing a card on a +silver salver. She took the card and exclaimed: “When you speak of the +wolf--Here is our man!” She begged M. Langis to retire; he implored +permission to remain, promising to be a model of discretion. She was +insisting on his leaving when Count Abel Larinski appeared. + +Samuel Brohl had scarcely taken three steps in Mme. de Lorcy’s _salon_ +before he conjectured why M. Moriaz had asked him to go there, and +what was the significance of the commission with which he was charged. +Notwithstanding the _salon_ had a southern exposure, and that it was +then the middle of the month of August, it seemed to him to be cold +there. He thought that he felt a draught of chilly air, an icy wind, +which pierced him through and through, and caused him an unpleasant +shiver. He did not need to look very attentively at Mme. de Lorcy to be +convinced that he was before his judge, and that this judge was not a +friendly one; and, as soon as his gaze met that of M. Camille Langis, +something warned him that this young man was his enemy. Samuel Brohl had +the gift of observation. + +He delivered his message, and handed Mme. de Lorcy the little portfolio +that contained Mlle. Moriaz’s painting, expressing his regret that +business had prevented his coming sooner. Mme. de Lorcy thanked him for +his kindness, with rather a cool politeness, and asked him for news of +her goddaughter. He did not expatiate on this topic. + +“The valley of Saint Moritz is a dreary country,” she next said. + +“Rather say, madame, that it is a dreary country possessing a great +charm for those who love it.” + +“It appears that Mlle. Moriaz is almost wearied to death there. I should +think she would die of ennui.” + +“Do you think her capable of yielding to ennui in any place?” + +“Certainly, do not doubt it; but she has recourse to her imagination +to dispel the tedium. She has a marvellous talent for procuring herself +diversion and for varying her pleasures. Hers is an imagination having +many relays: no sooner is one horse exhausted than there is another to +take its place.” + +“That is a precious gift,” he replied, briefly. “I assure you, however, +that you calumniate the Engadine. The trees there are not so well grown +as those in your park; but the Alpine fir and pine have their beauty.” + +“You went to this hole for your health, monsieur?” + +“Yes, and no, madame. I was not ill, but any physician contended that +I should be still better if I breathed the air of the Alps for three +weeks. It was taking a cure as a preventive.” + +“M. Larinski made the ascent of the Morteratsch,” said Camille, who, +seated on a divan with his arms extended on his knees, never had ceased +to look at Samuel Brohl with a hard and hostile glance. “That is an +exploit that can be performed only by well people.” + +“It is no exploit,” replied Samuel; “it is a work of patience, easy for +those who are not subject to vertigo.” + +“You are too modest,” rejoined the young man. “Had I done as much, I +would sound a trumpet.” + +“Have you attempted the ascent?” asked Samuel. + +“Not at all. I do not care about having feats of prowess to relate,” he +replied, in an almost challenging tone. + +Mme. de Lorcy hastened to interrupt the conversation by saying, “Is this +the first time you have been in Paris, monsieur?” + +“Yes, madame,” replied Samuel, who withdrew more and more into his +shell. + +“And does Paris please you as much as a pine-grove?” + +“Much more, madame.” + +“Have you any acquaintances?” + +“None; and the truth is, I have no desire to make any.” + +“Why?” + +“Shall I tell you my reason? I am not fond of breaking ice, and +Poles complain that there is nothing in the world so icy as Parisian +coldness.” + +“That explains itself,” cried Camille. “Paris, that is Paris proper, is +a small city of a hundred thousand souls, and this small city is invaded +more and more, by strangers who come here to seek pleasure or fortune. +It is but natural that Paris should protect itself.” + +“Parisians pride themselves on their penetration,” replied Samuel. +“It does not require much of it to distinguish an honest man from an +adventurer.” + +“Ah! permit me,” returned M. Langis, “that depends a good deal on +practice. The most skillful are deceived.” + +Samuel Brohl rose and made a movement to leave. Mme. de Lorcy insisted +on his sitting down again. She saw that she had made a bad beginning in +the fulfilment of her office of examining magistrate, and of gaining the +prisoner’s confidence. Fearing that Camille, in spite of his promise, +would spoil everything by some insult, she found a pretext to send him +away; she begged that he would go and examine a pair of horses that were +a recent acquisition. + +As soon as he was gone, she changed her manner; she grew amiable, she +endeavoured to remove the ill impression of her first welcome; she put +Count Abel at his ease, who felt that the air lost its chilliness +about him. Without appearing to do so, she made him undergo an +examination--she asked him many questions; he replied promptly. Visitors +came in; it was an hour before he took leave, after having promised Mme. +de Lorcy to dine with her the next day. + +She did not wait until then to write to M. Moriaz. Her letter was thus +conceived: + + +“August 16, 1875. + +“You recommend me to be impartial, my dear friend. Why should I not be? +It is true that I have dreamed of a certain marriage: one of the parties +would not listen to my propositions, and the other had abandoned the +idea. My project has come to nothing. Camille has enjoined me never +to speak of it to him again. You see I am no longer interested in the +question, or, rather, I have in the matter no other interest than that +which I feel for Antoinette, whose happiness is as dear to me as it is +to you. Apropos, do not give her my letters; read to her the passages +that you judge suitable to communicate to her--I leave that to your +discretion. + +“First of all, let me unfold to you my humble opinions. I am charged +with having prejudices; it is a shocking calumny. I will make you a +profession of faith, and you shall judge. I am at war with more than one +point of our French morals; I deplore the habit that we have formed of +considering marriage as a business transaction, of esteeming it as a +financial or commercial partnership, and making everything subordinate +to the equality of the personal estates. This principle is revolting +to me, my dear friend. We are accused in foreign countries of being an +immoral people. Heavens! it seems to me that we understand and practise +virtue quite as much as the English or Germans, and, to speak the whole +truth, I am not afraid to advance the opinion that this, of all the +countries of the universe, is the one where there is the most virtue. +It is not at that point that we sin. Our misfortune is, that we are too +rational in our habits of life, too circumspect, too prudent; we lack +boldness in our undertakings; we wish, as it is said, to have one foot +on firm land and the other not far off. We must have security; we do not +like risk; doubtful affairs do not please us; we are too prone to look +ahead, and to look ahead is to fear. That is one reason why we send out +no colonies, and that is the reason we have no more children. Are you +satisfied with me? + +“Napoleon I was in the habit of saying that, in fighting a battle, he +so ordered matters as to have seventy chances out of a hundred in his +favour; he left the rest to Fate. Ah! brave people, life is a battle, +but the French of to-day will not risk anything. They are the most +honest, the least romantic of men, and I regret it. Read Antoinette this +passage of my letter. Our young people think that they have a right to +the paternal fortune; they consider that their father is wanting in his +duty if he does not leave them a settled position, a certain future. +Their second preconceived notion is that they must find a wife who will +bring them as much at least as they have to offer her. I have so much, +you have so much--we are evidently created for each other; let us marry. +All this is deplorable. I like better to hear of the young American who +only expects from his parents the education necessary for a man to make +his way; he has his tools given to him and the method of using them, +but not a sou. You have learned to swim, my friend--swim. After that he +marries, most frequently a woman who has nothing, and who loves to spend +money. May the God Dollar protect him! he will gaily make an opening +for himself in life, and his wife will give him ten children, who will +follow the same course as their father. Where it is customary for hunger +to marry thirst, there are happy marriages, and a hardy race of people. +In all conscience, am I not romantic enough? + +“Let me consider another case. Take a man who has fortune: he profits +thereby to consult his heart only, and offer his name and revenues to +the woman he loves and who has no dower. I clap my hands, I think it the +best of examples, and I regret that it is so seldom practised among +us. In France princes never are seen marrying shepherdesses; on +the contrary, one too often sees penniless sons-in-law carrying off +heiresses, and that is precisely the most objectionable case. In a +romance, or at the theatre, the poor young man who marries a million is +a very noble person; in life it is different. Not if the poor young +man had a profession or a trade, if he could procure by his own work +a sufficient income to render him independent of his wife; but if he +submit to be dependent on her, if he expect from her his daily bread, to +roll in her carriage, to ask her for the expenses of his toilet, for his +pocket-money, and perhaps for sundry questionable outlays--frankly, this +young man lacks pride; and what is a man who has no pride? Besides, what +surety is there that in marrying it is, indeed, the woman he is in love +with and not the dower? Who assures me that Count Abel Larinski?--I +name no one, personalities are odious, and I own there are exceptions. +_Dieu_, how rare they are! If I were Antoinette, I would love the poor, +but in their own interest. I would not marry them. The interest of the +whole human race is at stake. Beggars are inventive; let them have +their own way to make, and they will be sure to invent some means of +livelihood; give them the key of a cash-box, and they will cease to +strive, you have destroyed their genius. My dear professor, in fifteen +years I have brought about a great many marriages. Three times I have +married hunger to thirst, and, thank God, I once decided a millionaire +to marry a poor girl who had not a sou, but I never aided a beggar +to marry a rich girl. Now you have my principles and ideas--Are you +listening to me still? You fall asleep sometimes while listening to a +sermon. Good! you open your eyes--I proceed: + +“I have seen your man. Well, sincerely, he only half pleases me. I +do not deny that he has a handsome head; a sculptor might use it as a +model. I will add that his eyes are very interesting, by turns grave, +gentle, gay, or melancholy. I have nothing to say against his manners or +his language; his address is excellent, and he is no booby--far from it. +With all this there is something about him that shocks me--I scarcely +know what--a mingling of two natures that I cannot explain. He might be +said to resemble, according to circumstances, a lion or a fox; I believe +that the fox-nature predominates, that the lion is supplementary. I +simply give you my impressions, which I am perfectly willing to be +induced to change. I am inclined to fancy that M. Larinski passed his +first youth amid vulgar surroundings, that later he came into contact +with good society, and being intelligent soon shook off the force of +early influences; but there still remain some traces of these. While he +was in my _salon_ his eyes twice took an inventory of its contents, +and that with a rapidity which would have done credit to a practised +appraiser. It was then, especially, that he had the air of a fox. + +“Nor is this all. I read the other day the story of a princess who was +travelling over the world, and asked hospitality, one evening, at the +door of a palace. Was she a real princess or an adventuress? The queen +who received her judged it well to ascertain. For this purpose she +prepared for her, with her own hands, a soft bed, composed of two +mattresses, on which she piled five feather-beds; between the two +mattresses she slipped three peas. The next day the traveller was asked +how she had slept. ‘Very badly,’ she replied. ‘I do not know what was in +my bed, but my whole body is bruised; I am black and blue, and I never +closed my eyes until dawn!’ ‘She is a true princess,’ cried the queen. +Is M. Larinski a true prince? I made him undergo the test of the three +peas. I allowed myself to question him with indiscreet, urgent, improper +curiosity; he did not appear to feel the indiscretion. He replied +promptly and submissively; he endeavoured to satisfy me, and I was not +satisfied. I shall see him again to-morrow--he comes to dine at Maisons. +I only wish to be able to prove to myself that he is a true prince. + +“My dear professor, you are the most imprudent of men, and, whatever +happens, you have only yourself to blame. People do not open their +doors so easily to strangers. You tell me that, thanks to M. Larinski’s +kindness, you did not break your leg. Mercy on me! a father would better +break his leg in three places than expose his daughter to the risk of +marrying an adventurer; his leg could be easily set. There is nothing so +frightful in that. + +“_Postscriptum_.--I open my letter. I want to prove to you how much I +desire to be just, and how far my impartiality goes. You know that +my neighbour, Abbe Miollens, lived a long time in Poland, and has +correspondents there. I begged him to get me information concerning the +count--of course, without explaining anything to him. He reports that +Count Abel Larinski is a true count. His father, the confiscation of the +property, the emigration to America, the Isthmus of Panama--all is true; +the history is authentic. Countess Larinski was a saint. Concerning the +son, nothing is known; he must have been three or four years old when he +landed in New York. No one ever saw him; no one seems to know anything +about his taking part in the insurrection of 1863. Having spoken the +truth about his parents, it is to be presumed that he told the truth +about himself. Very well, but one can fight for one’s country, and have +a saint for one’s mother, and yet possess none of the qualities that go +towards making a happy household. I take back the word adventurer, but I +still hold to all I have said about him. Why did he take an inventory of +my furniture with his eyes? Why did he sleep so soundly in a bed where +there were three peas? This requires an explanation. + +“Kiss Antoinette for me. Give my regards to Mlle. Moiseney, without +telling her that I think her a simpleton; it is a conviction in which I +shall die. Was it, indeed, very difficult to descend from that terrible +rock of yours?” + +Three days later, Mme. de Lorcy wrote a second letter: + + +“August 19th. + +“I have received this very moment, my dear monsieur, the reply from +Vienna that I have been expecting, and which I hasten to share with you. +I had applied to our friend Baron B---, first secretary of the embassy +from France to Vienna, in order to try to learn what reputation Count +Larinski had left there. He is esteemed there as a most worthy man; as +an inventor who was more daring than wise; as a devoted patriot; as one +of those Poles whose only thought is of Poland and of their Utopia, and +who would set fire to the four corners of the earth without wincing, for +the sole purpose of procuring embers at which to roast their chestnuts. +I will not return to the subject of the gun; you know all about it. It +seems that there was some good in this explosive gun, and that he who +invented it united a sort of genius with ingenuousness, inexperience, +and ignorance enough to make one weep. Nothing can be said against the +private character of the man. He had a few debts, and his tradespeople +felt considerable anxiety when he left Vienna one morning on foot. He +had no sooner reached Switzerland than he sent back money to settle +everything. Here we have an admirable trait. However, his tastes were +simple, and he led a steady life; it was the gun that brought his +finances into disorder. I will add that M. Larinski visited in Vienna +at several of the most distinguished houses, where he is remembered +most kindly. He was sought everywhere on account of his talents as +a musician, which were far more to be relied on than his talent as a +gunsmith. He plays the piano to perfection, and has a very beautiful +voice. Had he employed these talents, he could have made his way to +the opera, but his dignity held him back. Now you know what has been +communicated to me by Baron B---. On the faith of an honest woman, I +have neither added nor omitted anything. + +“I am going to astonish you. Would you believe that I am beginning to +be reconciled to Count Larinski? What shocked me in him is explained and +excused by his long residence in America. He is a mixed breed of Yankee +and Pole. Far from having prejudices against him, I now have them in +his favour. Do you know, I am by no means sure that he cherishes in +his heart any serious sentiment for your daughter? As a man of taste he +admires her. I should like to know who would not admire her! I suspect +Antoinette of allowing her imagination to become excited about nothing. +He talks of her on all occasions in as free and tranquil a fashion as he +would talk of a work of art. I find it impossible to believe that he +is in love. I have in vain watched his green eyes. I never have seen a +suspicious look. + +“As I announced to you, he came to Maisons yesterday to dine. I had +invited Abbe Miollens, and Camille had invited himself, promising that +he would act like a philosopher; he only half kept his promise: for +I must inform you that my nephew has conceived, I do not know why, +an insurmountable antipathy to M. Larinski; he is subject to taking +dislikes to people. During dinner, Abbe Miollens, who is a great +linguist and a great traveller, and who has at the ends of his fingers +everything concerning Poland and the Poles, led the conversation to the +insurrection of 1863. M. Larinski, at first, refrained from discussing +this sad subject; little by little the flood-gates were opened: he +related his adventures or campaigns without boasting, praising others +rather than himself; when suddenly his voice grew husky and his eyes +dim, he interrupted himself, and begged we would speak of other things. +Fortunately, at this moment, he did not see Camille, whose lips were a +sinister smile. Young Frenchmen have become such sceptics! I made eyes +at the bad boy, and on leaving the table I sent him to smoke a cigar in +the park. + +“I should confess to you that M. Larinski has made a conquest of Abbe +Miollens, who of all men is the most difficult to please, and who +disputes with Providence the privilege of fathoming the depths of the +human heart. You are aware that the abbe is a remarkable violinist: he +sent for his instrument; M. Larinski seated himself at the piano, and +the two gentlemen played a concert by Mozart--divine music performed by +two angels of the first class. The conversation that followed charmed me +more than the concerto. I do not know by what fatality we came to speak +of marriage. I did not miss the opportunity to disclose with a most +innocent air, my little theories, with which you are acquainted. Would +you believe that the count concurred, more than concurred, with my +views? He is more royalist than the king; he does not admit that a good +rule allows of any exception. According to him, a poor man who marries a +rich woman forfeits his honour, debases himself, sells himself; he is a +man in bondage. He developed this theme with sombre eloquence. I assure +you that the lion no longer bore resemblance to the fox. + +“After the departure of this fine musician and great orator, Abbe +Miollens, remaining alone with me, told me how much he was charmed with +his conversation and manners; he could not cease to sing his praises. I +think he went a little too far. However, I joined with him in regretting +that a man of his merit should be reduced to live by expedients. +The abbe’s arm reaches a long way; he promised me that he would busy +himself, at the expense of all other business, to find some employment +for M. Larinski. He remembered that there was some talk of establishing +in London an international school for the living languages. One of +the founders of this institute had applied to him to learn if he could +recommend some professor of the Slavonian languages. It would be exactly +the thing, and I should be delighted to procure for your _protégé_ an +occupation that would insure all the happiness that it is possible +to enjoy on the other side of the Channel. After this, will you still +accuse me of being prejudiced against him? + +“Adieu, my dear monsieur. Give my tender love to my amiable goddaughter. +I rely on you to read my letters to her with care and discretion. Little +girls should have only a part of the truth.” + +Eight days afterward Mme. de Lorcy wrote a third letter, which was thus +expressed: + + +“August 27th. + +“I am more and more content with M. Larinski. I blame myself for +the suspicions with which he inspired me. The Viennese were right to +consider him a worthy man, and Abbe Miollens has not valued him too +highly. You write, on your part, my dear friend, that you are not +dissatisfied with Antoinette. She is gay, tranquil; she walks, paints, +never speaks of Count Abel Larinski, and, when you speak to her of him, +she smiles and does not reply. You claim that she has reflected; that +time and absence have wrought their effect. ‘Out of sight, out of mind,’ +you say. Take care! I am more mistrustful than you. Are you very sure +that Antoinette may not be a slyboots? + +“What is certain is, that I received a charming epistle from her, in +which there is no more mention of M. Larinski than if Poland and the +Pole did not exist. She praises Engadine; she pretends that she would +ask for nothing better than to end her days in a pine-forest. I can read +between the lines that it would be a pine-forest after her own heart, +where there would be reunions, balls, guests to dinner, small parties, +a conservatory of music, and the opera. The last paragraph of her letter +is devoted to the insurrection in Herzegovina, and it is hardly worth +while to say that all her sympathies are with the insurgents. ‘If I were +a man,’ she writes, ‘I would go and fight for them.’ That is very well; +she always took the part of thieves against the police. I remember +long ago--she was ten years old--I told her the story of an unfortunate +traveller besieged in a forest by an army of wolves. He made a barricade +about himself, and around it he lighted great fires. The wolves fell +into the flames, where they roasted, one after the other. Antoinette +began to weep bitterly, and I imagined that she was lamenting the terror +of the unfortunate man. ‘Not at all,’ she cried: ‘the poor beasts!’ She +was made so; we cannot remake her. She will always side with the wolves, +especially with the lean ones who scarcely can make two ends meet. + +“I told you that Count Larinski was a worthy man. He came to see me the +day before yesterday. We have become very good friends. I asked him if +Paris still pleased him, and he replied, with the most gracious smile, +‘What I like best in Paris is Maisons Lafitte.’ Thereupon he said +some exceedingly pretty things, which I will not repeat. We walked +_tete-a-tete_ around the park. Heaven be praised that I returned +heart-whole! We talked politics; he bears the reputation of being +hot-headed, but he is not wanting in good sense. I wished to know if he +was in favour of the Turks or of the Bosnians. He replied: + +“‘As a Christian, as a Catholic, I am interested in the Christians of +the East, and I am for the Cross against the Crescent.’ He pronounced +these words, Christian, Catholic, and cross, in a tone full of unction. +I surmise that he is a devotee. He added, ‘As a Pole, I am for Turkey.’ + +“‘I believed,’ said I, ‘that the Poles had sympathy with all the +oppressed.’ + +“‘Poles,’ he replied, ‘cannot like those who like their oppressors, and +they cannot forget that the Osmanlis are their natural allies, and, on +occasions, their refuge.’ + +“I gave him Antoinette’s letter to read. I was very glad, at any hazard, +to prove to him that she could write four pages without asking about +him. He read it with extreme attention: but when he came to the famous +passage--‘If I were a man, I would go and fight for them!’--he smiled, +and returned me the letter, saying, in a disdainful and rather a dry +tone: + +“‘Write for me to Mlle. Moriaz that I believe I am a man, yet that +I will not fight for the Bosnians, and that the Turks are my greatest +friends.’ + +“‘She is foolish,’ I said. ‘Fortunately, she changes her folly with +every new moon!’ + +“‘What would you have?’ he replied; ‘in order not to be insipid, it is +well to be a little foolish. My poor mother used often to say: “My +son, youth should be employed in laying by a great store of extravagant +enthusiasm; otherwise, at the end of life’s journey the heart will be +void, for much is left on the road.”’ + +“Calm, _seigneur_, your excited fears, no one has designs on your +daughter; we evidently find her charming, but are by no means in love +with her. With much precaution and circumlocution I gently proceeded +to question Count Larinski on the state of his affairs, about which +he never has opened his mouth. He frowned. I did not lose courage. I +offered him this place of professor of the Slavonian languages of which +the abbe had again spoken. I saw in an instant that his sensitive pride +had taken alarm. However, upon reflection, he softened, thanked me, +declined my kind offer, and announced--guess what! How much is my news +worth? what will you give for it? He announced, I tell you, that in two +weeks--you understand me--he will return to Vienna, where he has been +promised a post in the archives of the Minister of War. I did not dare +to ask what was the salary; after all, if he is satisfied, it is not for +us to be harder to please than he. When I affirm that Count Larinski is +a good, worthy man!--In two weeks! you understand me perfectly. + +“My dear friend, I am enchanted to know that the water of Saint Moritz +and the air of the Engadine have entirely re-established your health; +but do not be imprudent. Half-cures are fatal. Be careful not to leave +Churwalden too soon, for the descent into the heavy atmosphere of the +plains. Your physician, whom I have just seen, declares that, if you +hasten your return he will not answer for the consequences. Antoinette, +I am sure, will join her entreaties to ours. Do not let us see you +before the end of three weeks! Follow my orders, my dear professor, +and all will go well. Camille is about to leave; he has become +insupportable. He had the audacity to assert to me that I was a good +woman, but very credulous, which in my estimation is not very polite. He +no longer acts as a nephew, and respect is dead.” + +Ten days later M. Moriaz received at Churwalden a fourth and last +letter: + + +“September 6th. + +“Decidedly my dear friend, Count Larinski is a delightful man, and I +never will pardon myself for having judged ill of him. The day before +yesterday I did not know the extent of his merit and of his virtues. +His beautiful soul is like a country where one passes from one pleasing +discovery to another, and at each step a new scene is revealed. Between +ourselves, Antoinette is a dreamer: where has she got the idea that this +man is in love with her? These Counts Larinski have artists’ enthusiasm, +tender and sensitive hearts, and poetic imaginations; they love +everything, and they love nothing; they admire a pretty woman as they +admire a beautiful flower, a humming-bird, a picture of Titian’s. Did +I tell you that the other day, as I was showing him through my park, he +almost fainted before my purple beech--which assuredly is a marvel? He +was in ecstasy; I truly believe there were tears in his eyes. I might +have supposed he was in love with my beech; yet he has not asked my +permission to marry it. + +“Moreover, if he were up to his eyes in love with your daughter, have +no fear; he will not marry her, and this is the reason--Wait a little, I +must go further back. + +“Abbe Miollens came to see me yesterday afternoon; he was distressed +that M. Larinski had not approved of his proposition. + +“‘The evil is not so great,’ I said; ‘let him go back to Vienna, where +all his acquaintances are; he will be happier there.’ + +“‘The evil that I see in it,’ he replied, ‘is that he will be lost to +us forever. Vienna is so far away! Professor in London, only ten hours’ +journey from Paris, he could cross the Channel sometimes, and we could +have our music together.’ + +“You can understand that this reasoning did not touch me in the least; +whatever it cost me I will bear it, and resign myself to lose M. +Larinski forever; but the abbe is obstinate. + +“‘I fear,’ he said, ‘that the Austrians pay their archivists badly; the +English manage matters better, and Lord C--- gave me _carte blanche_.’ + +“‘Oh! but that,’ rejoined I, ‘is a delicate point to touch. As soon +as you approach the bread-and-butter question, our man assumes a rigid, +formal manner, as if an attack had been made on his dignity.’ + +“‘I truly believe,’ he replied, ‘that there is a fundamental basis of +incomparable nobility of sentiment in his character; he is not proud, he +is pride itself.’ + +“The abbe is passionately fond of Horace; he assets that it is to this +great poet that he owes that profound knowledge of men for which he +is distinguished. He quoted a Latin verse that he was kind enough +to translate for me, and that signified something equivalent to the +statement that certain horses rear and kick when you touch the sensitive +spot. ‘That is like the Poles,’ he said. + +“Meanwhile, M. Larinski entered, and I retained the two gentlemen to +dinner. In the evening they again gave me a concert. Why was Antoinette +not there? I fancied I was at the Conservatoire. Then we conversed, and +the abbe, who never can let go his idea, said, without any reserve, to +the count: + +“‘My dear count, have you reflected? If you go to London, we could hope +to see you often; and, besides, the salary--well, as this terrible +word has been spoken, listen to me; I will do all in my power to obtain +conditions for you in every way worthy of your merit, your learning, +your character, your position.’ + +“He was not permitted to finish the list; the count reared like the +horse in Horace, exclaiming, ‘O Mozart! what a horrid subject of +conversation!’ Then he added, gravely: ‘M. l’Abbe, you are a thousand +times too good, but the place offered to me in Vienna seems to me +better adapted to my kind of ability; I would make, I fear, a detestable +professor, and the salary, were it double, would in my opinion have but +little weight.’ + +“The abbe still insisted. ‘In our century,’ said he, ‘less than any +other, can one live on air.’ + +“‘I have lived on it sometimes,’ replied the count, gaily, ‘and I did +not find it bad. My health is proof against accidents. Ah! where money +is concerned, you have no idea how far my indifference goes. It is not +a virtue with me, it is an infirmity; it is because of my nationality, +because I am my father’s son. I feel myself incapable of thinking of the +future, of practising thoroughly French habits of economy. If my +purse is full, I soon empty it; after which I condemn myself to +privations--no, that does not express it--I enjoy them. According to me, +there is no true happiness into which a little suffering does not enter. +Besides, I have a taste for contrasts. At times I believe myself a +millionaire, I have the pretensions of a nabob; I give full scope to my +fancies; the next day, my bed is hard and I live on bread-and-water, +and am perfectly happy. In short, I am a fool once in the year, and a +philosopher the rest of the time.’ + +“‘The trouble is,’ returned the abbe, ‘that one day of folly will +sometimes suffice to compromise forever the future of a philosopher.’ + +“‘Oh, reassure yourself,’ replied he; ‘my extravagances never are very +dangerous. There was method in Hamlet’s madness, and there is always a +little reason in mine.’ + +“While making this declaration of principles, he had seated himself at +the piano, and idly began running his fingers over the keys. Suddenly he +began to sing a German song, which I got Abbe Miollens to translate +for me, and which is not long. The hero of the song is an amorous pine, +standing on the summit of a barren mountain of the north. He is alone; +he is weary; the snow and ice wrap him in a white mantle, and he spends +his dreary hours of leisure in dreaming of a palm, which in days of yore +he met, it seems, in his travels. + +“M. Larinski sang this little melody with so much pathos that the good +abbe was touched, and I became anxious. Anxiety, once felt, is apt to +be constantly returning. I asked myself if he had met his palm in the +Engadine, and added aloud, rather dryly: ‘Is the day of your departure +definitely fixed? will you not do us the favour of granting us a +reprieve?’ + +“He executed the most pearly chromatic scale, and replied: ‘Alas! +madame, I am only deferring my departure on account of a letter that +cannot be much longer delayed; in less than a week, I shall have the +distress of bidding you farewell.’ + +“‘You shall not leave,’ said Abbe Miollens, ‘without letting us hear +once again the poem of the pine. You sang it with so much soul that it +seemed to me you must be relating an episode of your own history. My +dear count, did you ever chance to dream of a palm?’ + +“He answered: ‘I have no longer the right to dream; I am no longer +free.’ + +“The abbe started and cried out, in his simple-hearted way, ‘Ah! what, +are you married?’ + +“‘I thought I had told you so,’ replied he with a melancholy smile, and +he hastened to speak of a ballet that he had seen the evening before at +the opera, and with which he was only half pleased. + +“You can readily believe that when he pronounced the words, ‘I thought +I had told you so,’ I was on the point of falling on his neck; I was so +happy, that I was afraid he would read in my eyes my joy, astonishment, +and profound gratitude. I think that he is very keen, and that he has +conjectured for some time the mistrust with which he inspired me. If +he wanted to mock me a little, I will pardon him; a good man unjustly +suspected has a perfect right to revenge himself by a little irony. +I ordered the horses to be put to my carriage to take him over to the +railroad, and the abbe and I accompanied him as far as the station. +There cannot be too much regard shown to honest people who have been +abused by fortune. + +“Well! what do you say, my dear friend? Was I wrong in claiming that M. +Larinski is a delightful man? He will leave before the end of a +week, and he is married, unhappily married, I fear, for his smile +was melancholy. You see he may have married out of gratitude some +_grisette_, some little working-woman, who nursed him through illness, +one of those women who are not presentable; that would be thoroughly in +character. Happily, in law there are no good or bad marriages; this one +I hold to be unimpeachable. + +“The reaction was violent: I am so rejoiced that I feel tempted to +illuminate Cormeilles and Maisons Lafitte. In what way will your +undeceive our dreamer? In your place I would use some precautions. Be +prudent; go bridle in hand; and in the future, believe me, climb no more +among the rocks; you see what it may lead to. + +“Once more, do not hasten your departure. We have had for some days +stifling heat; we literally suffocate. You need to spend a fortnight +longer amid the shade of the pine-trees, and four thousand feet above +the level of the sea. + +“Adieu, my dear professor! I am interrupted in my writing by the +incredulous, the sceptical, the suspicious, the absurd, the ridiculous +Camille, who respectfully recommends himself to your indulgent +friendship.” + + + +CHAPTER VI + +In reading the fourth letter of Mme. de Lorcy, M. Moriaz experienced a +feeling of satisfaction and deliverance, over which he was not master. +His daughter had gone to pay a visit in the neighbourhood, and he was +alone with Mlle. Moiseney, who said to him, “You have received good +news, monsieur?” + +“It is excellent,” he replied; then, promptly correcting himself, he +added: “Excellent, or to be regretted, or vexatious; I leave that to our +powers of discernment.” + +When he had finished reading the letter, and replaced it in the +envelope, he remained thoughtful for some moments; he was wondering how +he should proceed to announce the excellent news. For three weeks his +daughter had been a mystery to him. She never once had pronounced the +name of Count Larinski. Churwalden pleased her as much as Saint Moritz; +apparently, she was gay, tranquil, perfectly happy. Had her delusion +passed away? Had she changed her mind? M. Moriaz did not know; but he +surmised that still waters should be mistrusted, and that a young girl’s +imagination is like an abyss. One thoroughly good warning is worth two +indifferent ones; henceforth, he feared everything. “If I speak to her,” + thought he, “I shall not be able to dissimulate my joy, and perhaps she +will go into hysterics.” He had a horror of hysterics; he resolved to +have recourse to Mlle. Moiseney, and he said to her, abruptly: + +“I suppose, mademoiselle, that you are acquainted with all that has +passed, and that Antoinette has given you her confidence?” + +She opened her eyes wide, and was on the point of answering that she +knew nothing; but she restrained herself, and setting her little pointed +head erect on her thin shoulders, she said, proudly, “Can you imagine +that Antoinette would keep any secrets from me?” + +“Heaven forbid!” replied he. “And do you approve, do you encourage her +sentiments for M. Larinski?” + +Mlle. Moiseney started; she had been far from suspecting that Count +Larinski had specially impressed Mlle. Moriaz, and, as on certain +occasions her mind worked rapidly, she understood immediately all the +consequences of this prodigious event. There was a cloud before her +eyes, and in this cloud she beheld all manner of things, both pleasing +and displeasing to her; her mouth open, she strove to clear her ideas. +She said to herself: “It is an imprudent act; not only that, it cannot +be;” but she also said: “Mlle. Antoinette can no more make a mistake +than the Queen of England can; because she wishes it, she is right in +wishing it.” Mlle. Moiseney ended by regaining her self-possession; her +lips formed the most pleasant smile, as she exclaimed: + +“He has no fortune, but he has a beautiful name. Mme. la Comtesse +Larinski! it sounds well to the ear.” + +“Like music; I grant, it is perfect,” rejoined M. Moriaz. +“Unfortunately, music is not everything in the affairs of this world.” + +She was not listening to him. Full of her own idea, without taking time +to breathe: “You jest, monsieur,” she continued, with extraordinary +volubility. “Believe me or not, I have foreseen this marriage for some +time. I have presentiments that never deceive me. I was sure that it +would be thus. What a handsome couple! Fancy them driving in an open +carriage through the park, or entering a proscenium-box at the opera! +They will make a sensation. And truly, without boasting, I think I may +call your attention to the fact that I have been of some account in the +affair. The first time I saw Count Larinski, you know, at the _table +d’hote_ in Bergun, I recognised at once that he was beyond comparison--” + +“By-the-way, he ate trout?” interrupted M. Moriaz; “it does honour to +your discernment.” + +“You had better ask Antoinette,” replied she, “if that very evening I +did not praise the handsome stranger. She maintained that he stooped, +and that his head was badly poised; would you believe it?--his head +badly poised! Ah! I was sure it would end so. Do you wish to prove my +discernment? Shall I tell you where your letter comes from that contains +such excellent news? The count wrote it; he has at last proposed. I +guessed it at once. Ah! monsieur, I sympathize in your joy. He is, +indeed, the son-in-law that I have dreamed of for you. A superior man, +so open-hearted, so unaffected and frank!” + +“Do you really think so?” asked M. Moriaz, fanning himself with the +letter. + +“He related to us his whole life,” rejoined she, in a pedantic tone. +“How many people could do as much?” + +“A delightful narration. I only regret that he was silent concerning one +detail which was of a nature to interest us.” + +“An unpleasant detail?” she asked, raising her gooseberry-coloured eyes +to him. + +“On the contrary, a circumstance that does him honour, and for which I +am obliged to him. Believe me, my dear demoiselle, I should be charmed +to receive a son-in-law from your hands, and to give my daughter to a +man whose genius and noble sentiments you divined from merely seeing him +eat. Unfortunately, I fear this marriage will not come about; there is +one little difficulty.” + +“What?” + +“Count Larinski forgot to apprise us that he was already married.” + +Mlle. Moiseney sent forth a doleful cry. M. Moriaz handed her Mme. +de Lorcy’s letter; after reading it, she remained in a state of deep +dejection; a pitiless finger had burst the iris bubble that she had just +blown, and that she saw resplendent at the end of her pipe. + +“Do not give way to your despair,” said M. Moriaz; “take courage, follow +the example I set you, imitate my resignation. But tell me, how do you +think Antoinette will take the matter?” + +“It will be a terrible blow to her,” replied Mlle. Moiseney; “she loves +him so much!” + +“How do you know, since she has not judged it best to tell you?” + +“I know from circumstances. Poor dear Antoinette! The greatest +consideration must be used in announcing to her this intelligence; and I +alone, I believe--” + +“I agree with you,” M. Moriaz hastened to interpose; “you alone are +capable of operating on our patient without causing her suffering. You +are so skilful! your hand is so light! Make the best of the situation, +mademoiselle--I leave it to you.” + +With these words he took up his hat and cane, and hastened to get away, +rather anxious about what had passed, yet feeling too happy, too much +rejoiced, to be a good consoler. + +It was not long before Mlle. Moriaz returned from her walk. She came +humming a ballad; she was joyous, her complexion brilliant, her eyes +sparkling, and she carried an armful of heather and ferns. Mlle. +Moiseney went to meet her, her face mournful, her head bent down, her +glance tearful. + +“Why! what is the matter, my dear Joan?” she said; “you look like a +funeral.” + +“Alas!” sighed Mlle. Moiseney, “I have sad news to communicate.” + +“What! have they written to you from Cormeilles that your parrot is +dead?” + +“Ah, my dear child, be reasonable, be strong; summon up all your +courage.” + +“For the love of God, what is the matter?” + +“Ah! would that I could spare you this trouble! Your father has just +received a letter from Mme. de Lorcy.” + +Antoinette grew more attentive, her breath came quickly. “And what was +there in this letter that is so terrible, so heart-rending?” she asked, +forcing a smile. + +“Fortunately, I am here,” replied Mlle. Moiseney. “You know that your +joys and your sorrows are mine. All the consolation that I can lavish +upon you, the tenderest sympathy--” + +“My dear Joan, in the name of Heaven, explain first, and then console!” + +“You told me nothing, my child--I have a right to complain; but I have +divined all. I can read your heart. I am sure that you love him.” + +“Of whom do you speak?” replied Antoinette, whose colour rose in her +cheeks. + +“Of a most charming man, who, either through inconceivable stupidity, +or through most criminal calculation, neglected to tell us that he was +married.” + +And with these words, Mlle. Moiseney extended both arms, that she +might receive into them Mlle. Moriaz, whom she believed to be already +swooning. + +Mlle. Moriaz did not swoon. She flushed crimson, then grew very pale; +but she remained standing, her head proudly erect, and she said, in a +tone of well-feigned indifference: “Oh! M. Larinski is married? My very +sincere compliments to the Countess Larinski.” + +After which she busied herself arranging in a vase the heather and ferns +she had brought back with her. Mlle. Moiseney stood lost in astonishment +at her calm; she gazed in a stupor at her, and suddenly exclaimed: +“Thank God! you do not love him! Your father has mistaken, he often +mistakes; he sometimes gets the strangest ideas into his mind; he was +persuaded that this would be a death-blow to you; he does not know you +at all. Ah! unquestionably, M. Larinski is far from being disagreeable; +I do not dispute his having some merit; but I always thought that there +was something suspicious about him; his manners were a little equivocal; +I suspected him of hiding something from us. As it appears, he has made +a _mesalliance_ that he did not care to acknowledge. It is deplorable +that a man of such excellent address should have low tastes and +doubtful morality. His duty was to tell us all; he was neither loyal nor +delicate.” + +“You dream, my dear,” replied Antoinette. “What law, human or divine, +obliged M. Larinski to tell us everything? Did you expect him to render +an account of his deeds and misdeeds to us as to a tribunal of penance?” + +In speaking thus, she took off her hat and mantilla, seated herself in +the embrasure of a window, and opened a book which she began to read +with great attention. + +“God be praised! she does not love him,” thought Mlle. Moiseney, who +was not aware that Mlle. Moriaz was turning two or three pages at a time +with perceiving it. + +Deeply absorbed as she was, she still recognised her father’s step as he +came upstairs to his room. She hurried out to meet him. He noticed with +pleasure that her face was not wan, nor were her eyes red. He was less +satisfied when she said, in a calm, clear voice: + +“Please show me the letter that you have received from Mme. de Lorcy.” + +“What is the use?” he rejoined. “I know it by heart. I am ready to +recite it to you.” + +“Is it a letter that cannot be shown?” + +“No, indeed; but as I tell you that I am ready to give you an account of +it--” + +“I would prefer to read it with my own eyes.” + +“After all, you have a right. There! take it. But I beg of you do not be +offended by unfortunate expressions.” + +“Mme. de Lorcy always knows how to choose the proper word to express her +thought,” she responded. + +When she had run her eye rapidly over Mme. de Lorcy’s eight closely +written pages, she looked at her father and smiled. + +“You must own that you found a very useful and a very zealous ally in +Mme. de Lorcy; do her this justice, she has worked hard, and you owe +her many thanks for having busied herself so actively in ridding you of +‘this worthy man, this good man, this delightful man’; those are her own +words, if you remember.” + +M. Moriaz exclaimed: “I hope you do not imagine that it was a matter +arranged between us. Do you really suspect me of having some dark plot +with Mme. de Lorcy! Do you believe me capable of being implicated in an +act of perfidy?” + +“God forbid! I only accuse you of being too joyous, and of not knowing +how to conceal it.” + +“Is that a crime?” + +“Perhaps it is an indiscretion.” + +“I swear to you, my dear child, that I only consider your happiness, +and Mme. de Lorcy herself--Since M. Langis no longer thinks of you, what +reason could she have--” + +“I do not know,” interrupted Antoinette; “but her prejudice would take +the place of reason.” + +“So you will not believe that Count Larinski is married?” + +“I believe it, without being certain, and I wish to be assured of it. +Have I not acted in good faith through all this matter? was I not ready +to comply with your conditions? I consented to refer to the judgment of +Mme. de Lorcy. She has deigned to be gracious to the accused. She +has admitted that M. Larinski is a perfectly honourable and even a +delightful man; but she has discovered, at intervals of several days, +first, that he does not love me, and then, that he has deceived me by +letting me believe that he was still free. I wish to satisfy my own +mind, and convince myself that I am not being played with.” + +“And you have concluded----” + +“I have concluded that, with your permission, we shall leave to-morrow +morning for Cormeilles.” + +This conclusion was by no means agreeable to M. Moriaz, whose face grew +sensibly longer. + +“Of what are you afraid? You know that I have character, and you ought +to know, no matter what Mme. de Lorcy says, that I am not wanting in +good sense. When it is proved to me that I have deceived myself, I will +make the sign of the cross over my romance; it will be dead and buried, +and I promise you not to wear mourning for it.” + +“So be it,” said he; “I believe in your good sense, I have faith in your +reason: we shall leave to-morrow for Cormeilles.” + +Four days later, Mme. de Lorcy was walking in an alley in her park. +She was joined there by M. Langis, to whom she said, in a good-humoured +tone: “Always grave and melancholy, my dear Camille! When will you +cease your drooping airs? I cannot understand you. I do my best to be +agreeable to you, to settle matters satisfactorily. Nothing seems to +cheer you. You make me think of the hare in La Fontaine: + +“‘Cet animal est triste, et la Crainte le ronge.’” + +“Fear and hate, madame,” replied he. “I hate this man; he is +insupportable to me. I will give up coming to Maisons if I always must +meet him here. Has he paid you his adieux for the last time?” + +“Not yet; a little patience--we shall not count the minutes. Besides, +what harm can this man do you? The lion has lost his claws--what do I +say?--he has carried his good-nature to the point of muzzling himself. +It is not generous to pursue with hate a disarmed enemy.” + +“Very well, madame, if he is not gone in three days, I return to my +first idea; it was the best.” + +“You will cut his throat?” + +“With all my heart.” + +“For the love of art?” + +“I am not a very bloodthirsty individual, but I would take a singular +delight in slashing at the skin of this gloomy personage.” + +Mme. de Lorcy shrugged her shoulders. “What makes you think him gloomy, +my dear? You are perfectly reasonable. You ought to adore M. Larinski; +you are under the greatest obligations to him. He has been the first to +succeed in touching the heart of our dear, hitherto insensible girl; he +has broken the charm. She was the Sleeping Beauty; he has awakened her, +and, through the favour of Heaven, he cannot marry her. I can see her in +Churwalden, a prey to the gloomiest ennui, weeping over her illusions, +furious at having been deceived. Do you not divine all the advantage +that can be derived from a woman’s anger?” + +“You know that I love her, and yet I do not wish to owe anything to her +spite.” + +“You are a child: be guided. The moment is come for you to propose. In +a few days you will start for Churwalden, and you will say to this angry +woman, ‘I have lied--I love you.’ In short, you will talk to her of your +amorous flame; and you may, freely, under these circumstances, exhaust +all your treasure-store of hyperbole. She will listen to you, I can +promise you, and she will say to herself, ‘I seek vengeance--here it +is.’” + +“I would like to believe you, madame,” he replied, “but are you very +certain that Mlle. Moriaz is still at Churwalden?” + +And, pointing with his finger, he showed her at the end of the avenue a +figure coming towards them clad in a pretty nut-brown dress with a long +train sweeping the gravel. + +“Truly, I believe that it is she,” cried Mme. de Lorcy. “M. Moriaz is +the most unskilful person; but, after all, not much harm is done.” + +Mlle. Moriaz had arrived the evening previous at Cormeilles. After +resting somewhat from the fatigues of the journey, she had nothing more +urgent to do than to order the horses put to her coupe and to come and +pay her respects to her godmother, who could not fail to be touched by +this attention. + +Mme. de Lorcy ran to Antoinette and embraced her several times, saying: +“You are here at last! How charmed I am to see you again! You made +us wait long enough; I began to fear that you had taken root in the +Grisons. Is it indeed an enchanted land? I rather believe that your +father is a cruel egotist, that he shamefully sacrificed you to his own +convenience in prolonging his cure; but here you are--I will pardon +him. Your poor, your _proteges_, are clamorous for you. Who do you think +asked after you, the other day? Mlle. Galet, whom, according to your +orders, I supplied with her quarter’s allowance. How you spoil her! I +found on her table a bouquet fit for a duchess; she insisted that you +had sent it to her from where you were, and I had all the trouble in +the world to make her understand that double camellias are not gathered +among the glaciers of Roseg. Strew with flowers, if you will, Mlle. +Galet’s existence and garret; but do not fling at her head a bushel +of double camellias, streaked with white; it is madness. I seriously +propose to have you put under restraint. Never mind, I am very happy +to see you again. You are looking very well.--Don’t you think, Camille, +that she appears extremely well?” + +Mlle. Moriaz coldly received Mme. de Lorcy’s embraces; but she smiled +graciously on M. Langis, and pressed his hand affectionately. Mme. +de Lorcy led them into her _salon_, where they talked on indifferent +subjects. Antoinette was waiting for M. Langis’s departure to broach the +subject that she had at heart. At the end of twenty minutes, he rose, +but immediately reseated himself. A door had just opened, giving +admittance to Count Abel Larinski. + +At the unexpected apparition of Samuel Brohl, the two women changed +colour; the one flushed from the effort that she made to dissimulate her +vexation, the other turned pale from emotion. Samuel Brohl crossed the +_salon_ with deliberate step, without appearing to recognise the person +who was with Mme. de Lorcy. Suddenly he trembled, as if he had been +touched by a torpedo, and, profoundly agitated, almost lost countenance. +Was he as much astonished as he seemed? For some time the Sannois Hill +had become his favourite promenade, and he never went there without +going as far as a certain spot whence he could see the front of a +certain house, the window-shutters of which had remained during two +months as though hermetically sealed. It might be that the evening +before he had found them open. Induction is a scientific process with +which Samuel Brohls are familiar. + +He had abundant will and self-control. He was not long in recovering +himself; he raised his head like one who feels himself strong enough to +defy all dangers. After greeting Mme. de Lorcy, he drew near Antoinette, +and asked how she was, in a grave, almost ceremonious tone. + +“Your visit distresses me, my dear count,” said Mme. de Lorcy to him; “I +fear it is the last. Have you come to bid us farewell?” + +“Alas! yes, madame,” he replied. “The letter for which I have been +waiting has not yet arrived; but this delay will not alter my plans: in +three days I shall leave Paris.” + +“Without a desire to return, without regret?” she asked. + +“I shall only regret Maisons, and the kind reception I have received +there. Paris is too large; little people like myself feel their +smallness more here than elsewhere; it does not require an excess of +pride for one to dislike being reduced to the state of an atom. Residing +in Vienna suits me better; I breathe freer there; it is a city better +adapted to my size and taste. Birds do wrong to change their nests.” + +Thereupon, he began to describe and warmly extol the Prater and its fine +walks, Schonbrunn, its botanical gardens and the Gloriette, the church +of St. Stephen’s, and the limpid waters of the Danube; sometimes +addressing himself to Antoinette, who listened without a word, and +sometimes to Mme. de Lorcy, whose eyes were turned at intervals towards +M. Langis, seeming to say to him: “Was I not right? Confess that your +apprehensions lacked common-sense. Do you hear him? he has only half +an hour to spend with her, and he describes the Prater. Are you still +thinking of cutting his throat? Please say one polite and civil word +to him. It is not he, it is you who are gloomy. Throw off your sinister +air. How long will this taciturn reverie last in which you are sunk? +You make yourself a laughing-stock--you act like a fool. You resemble +a sphinx of the desert engaged in meditating upon a serpent, and who +mistakes an innocent adder for a viper.” M. Langis understood what she +wished to say to him, but he did not throw off his sinister air. + +After praising Vienna and its environs, Samuel Brohl eulogized the easy, +careless character of the Viennese. He told, in a sprightly way, several +anecdotes. His gaiety was rather feverish--somewhat forced studied, and +abrupt; but, nevertheless, it was gaiety. Mme. de Lorcy responded to +him, Mlle. Moriaz continued silent; she crumpled between her fingers +the guipure lace of her Marie-Antoinette fichu, and, with fixed eye, she +seemed to be counting the stitches. Samuel Brohl interrupted himself +in the midst of a sentence, and rose suddenly. He turned towards +Antoinette; in a hollow voice he begged her to tell M. Moriaz how much +he regretted that his early departure would deprive him of the honour +and pleasure of visiting him at Cormeilles; then he bowed to Mme. de +Lorcy, thanked her for the happy moments that he had spent with her, and +charged her to commend him to the kind remembrance of Abbe Miollens. + +“We shall meet again, my dear count,” she said to him, in a clear voice, +emphasizing her words; “and I hope that, before long, we shall make the +acquaintance of the Countess Larinski.” + +He looked at her in astonishment, and murmured, “I lost my mother ten +years ago.” + +Immediately, without giving Mme. de Lorcy time to explain herself, he +directed his steps hastily towards the door, followed by three glances, +all three of which spoke, although they did not all say the same thing. +The room was large; during the thirty seconds that it took him to cross +it, the angel of silence hovered in the air. + +He was about passing through the door, when, as fatality ordained, there +occurred to him an unfortunate and disastrous thought. He could not +resist the desire to see Mlle. Moriaz once more, to impress forever +on his memory her adored image. He turned, and their eyes met. He paid +dearly for this weakness of the will. Apparently the violent restraint +that he had exercised over himself for an hour had exhausted his +strength. It seemed to him that his heart ceased to beat; he felt his +legs stiffen, and refuse to serve him; his teeth clinched, his pupils +dilated, consciousness forsook him. Suddenly, heavily as a mass of +lead, he fell prone upon the floor, where he remained in a senseless +condition. + +Mlle. Moriaz could not suppress a cry, and seemed for a moment on the +point of fainting herself. Mme. de Lorcy drew her arm around her waist, +and hurried her into the next room, throwing to M. Langis a bottle of +salts as she did so, and saying, “Take care of Count Larinski.” + +The first thing that M. Langis did was to set the bottle on the +table, after which he went close up to Samuel Brohl, who, fainting +and inanimate, bore almost the appearance of death. He examined him +an instant, bent over him, then, folding his arms and shrugging his +shoulders, he said to him, “Monsieur, Mlle. Moriaz is no longer here.” + +Samuel Brohl did not stir. “You did not hear me,” continued Camille. +“You are superb, M. le Comte; you are very handsome; your attitude is +irreproachable, and you might well be taken for a dead person. You +fell admirably; I swear I never saw at the theatre a more successful +fainting-fit; but spare yourself further trouble for the performance. I +repeat, Mlle. Moriaz is no longer here.” + +Samuel Brohl remained inert and rigid. + +“Perhaps you want to try the strength of my wrists,” continued Camille. +“Very well, I will give you that satisfaction.” + +And, with these words, he seized him round his waist, summoned all his +strength in order to lift him, and deposited him at full length on the +sofa. + +He examined him again, and said: “Will this tragi-comedy last much +longer? Shall I not find a secret to resuscitate you? Listen to me, +monsieur. I love with all my soul the woman that you pretend to love. +Does that not suffice? Monsieur, you are a Polish adventurer, and I have +as much admiration for your social talents as I have little esteem for +yourself. Does that not suffice yet? I would not, however, lift my hand +to you. I entreat you to consider the affront received.” + +It seemed as if the dead man trembled slightly, and Camille exclaimed: +“Thank God! this time you have given sign of life, and the insult found +the way to your heart. I would be charmed to restore you to your senses. +I await your commands. The day, the place, and the weapons, I leave to +your choice. And, stay! You can count on my absolute discretion. No one, +I give you my word, shall learn from me that your fainting-fit had ears, +and resented insults. Here is my address, monsieur.” + +And, drawing from his pocket a visiting-card, he tried to slip it into +the cold, listless, pendent hand, which let it fall to the ground. + +“What obstinacy!” he said. “As you will, M. le Comte; I am at the end of +my eloquence.” + +He turned his back, seated himself in a chair, and taking a paper, he +unfolded it. Meanwhile the door opened, and Mme. de Lorcy appeared. + +“What are you doing here, Camille?” she exclaimed. + +“You see, madame,” he answered, “I am waiting until this great comedian +has finished playing his piece.” + +He was not aware that Mlle. Moriaz also had just entered the _salon_. +She cast him an angry, indignant, threatening glance, in which he read +his condemnation. He tried to find some word of excuse or explanation to +disarm her anger, but his voice failed him. He bowed low, took his hat, +and went away. + +Mme. de Lorcy, very much agitated, opened a window; then she threw water +into Samuel Brohl’s face, rubbed his temples with a vivacity that was +not altogether exempt from roughness, and made him smell English salts. + +“Ah, my dear! pray go away,” she said to Antoinette; “this is no place +for you.” + +Antoinette did not go away; her face contracted, her lips trembling, she +seated herself aside at some distance from the sofa. + +Mme. de Lorcy’s energetic exertions at last produced their effect. +Samuel Brohl was not dead; a quiver ran through his frame, his limbs +relaxed, and at the end of a few instants he reopened his eyes, then his +mouth; he sat up, and stammered: “Where am I? What has happened? Ah, my +God! it was but a moment ago that she was here!” + +Mme. de Lorcy laid her hand on his mouth, and, bending over his ears, +she said, in a severe, imperious tone, “She is here still!” + +She did not succeed in making herself understood. One only recovers by +degrees from such a fainting-fit. Samuel Brohl was again overcome by +weakness; his eyes closed once more, and he let his head sink between +his hands. After a silence of a few moments he said, in a choked voice: +“Ah! pardon me, madame. I am ashamed of myself. My courage failed me; my +strength betrayed me. I love her madly, and I had sworn never to see her +again. It was in order to fly from her that I was going away.” + +He raised his head; he saw Antoinette; he looked wildly at her, as +though he did not recognise her. + +He recognised her at last, made a gesture of alarm, rose precipitately, +and fled. + +Mlle. Moriaz drew near Mme. de Lorcy, and said to her, “Well, what do +you think of it?” + +“I think, my dear,” she replied, “that Mme. de Lorcy is a fool, and that +Count Larinski is a powerful man.” + +Antoinette looked at her with a bitter smile, and touched her arm +lightly. “Admit, madame,” she said, “that if he had a hundred thousand +livres’ income, you would not think of doubting his sincerity.” + +Mme. de Lorcy did not reply; she could not say “No,” and she was enraged +to feel that she was both right and wrong. It is an accident that +happens sometimes to women of the world. + + + +CHAPTER VII + +On her entering her coupe to return to Cormeilles, Mlle. Moriaz was the +prey of an agitation that did not calm down during the entire drive. Her +whole soul was stirred by a tender, passionate sentiment for the man who +had swooned away in taking farewell of her; she was filled with anger +against the foolish prejudices and the petty finesse of the people of +the world; filled with joy at having baffled a monstrous conspiracy +against her happiness; filled with pride because she had seen clearly, +because she had not mistaken in her choice, and because the man whom she +loved was worthy of being loved. During several days she had suffered +cruelly from anxiety, from actual agony of mind, and over and over +again she had said to herself, “Perhaps they are right.” A woman’s heart +believes itself to be at the mercy of error, and it is torture to it +to be obliged to doubt itself and its own clairvoyance. When it is +unmistakably demonstrated to it that its god is only an idol of wood +or of stone, that what was once adored must henceforth be despised, it +feels ready to die, and imagines that some spring must give way in the +vast machine of the universe, that the sky must fall, the earth crumble +away; and yet a woman’s error of judgment is not a matter of such very +grave import. The sun continues to shine, the earth to revolve upon its +axis, as though it had not occurred. The machine of the universe would +be subject to quite too many accidents should it become unsettled every +time a woman made a mistake. + +“It was I who was right; they were incapable of comprehending him,” + though Mlle. Moriaz, as she crossed the Seine, and she contemplated with +a delighted eye the lovely blue sky, the tranquil waters, the verdant +banks of the river, with their long range of poplar-trees. It seemed +to her that all was going well, that order reigned everywhere, that the +Great Mechanician was at his post, that the world was in good hands, and +that travellers therein had no cause to fear untoward mischance. + +When she arrived at Cormeilles, M. Moriaz was shut up in his laboratory, +which he had been overjoyed to find just as he had left it. A velvet +skull-cap perched on one side of his head, his sleeves turned up, a +brown holland apron tied round his neck and his waist, a feather brush +in his hand, he had proceeded at once to examine his precious stock in +detail--his furnaces, his long-necked, big-bellied matrasses, the curved +necks and the tubulures of his retorts, his cucurbits, and his alembics. +Balloons, tubes, pipettes, pneumatic vats, receivers, cupels, lamps, +bell-glasses, blow-pipes, and mortars, he passed in review to assure +himself that during his absence nothing had been damaged. He carefully +dusted his jars, examined the labels, made sure that none of his +treasures were cracked, that his gauges were not out of order. He was as +happy as a king who has his troops pass in review before him, and feels +convinced that they bear themselves well; that they will stand fire and +do honour to their master. + +Agreeable as was the occupation to which for two hours he had devoted +himself, M. Moriaz had not forgotten the existence of his daughter and +of M. Larinski. He knew that Antoinette had repaired to Maisons Lafitte +to have an explanation with Mme. de Lorcy, and this thought cast a +shadow over his felicity. He hoped, however, that this interview might +turn out according to his wishes; that the Pole star, which had caused +him so much disquietude, might disappear forever from his horizon. + +Some one knocked at the door of his laboratory. “Come in!” he cried, and +turning he saw Antoinette standing upon the threshold. He gazed at +her fixedly. Her eye was so animated, her countenance so beaming, so +luminous, that involuntarily he dropped his arms and let fall, as he did +so, a little vial he held in his hands. + +“Naughty girl, to cause such havoc in her father’s laboratory!” she +cried, gaily. + +“The harm done is not very great,” he replied; and he began diligently +brushing up the fragments of the vial. It was his way of gaining time, +but he did it so awkwardly that she snatched the brush from his hands: +“This is the way to sweep,” said she. + +He watched her, saying to himself: “This is the reverse of the scene at +Churwalden. It is now I who wear a long face, and she cannot dissemble +her joy. Just requital of things here below.” + +So soon as she had finished her brushing she looked around and remarked: +“Well, here you are once more in your paradise--this enchanted spot, +where you taste such ineffable delights.” + +“Oh, yes, I am happy here--happy enough that is,” he replied, with +modesty. + +“Fastidious creature! It is altogether charming in your laboratory.” + +“Yes, it is suitable. Nevertheless, I often reflect that there is +something wanting. Do you know what my dream is? I should like to +have over in yonder corner a transparent _chapelle_. You, perhaps, are +unacquainted with a _chapelle_. It is a framework or basket-funnel above +a chimney, for facilitating the release of volatiles and pernicious +vapours, and having one side of glass. It enables the chemist to watch +the process taking place within. German chemists have nearly always +transparent _chapelles_ in their laboratories.” + +“How can any one accuse you of lack of imagination?” she exclaimed. “You +are a very romantic man, and your romance is a transparent _chapelle_. +Now I know why you are so indulgent to the romances of others.” + +Then carelessly drawing the brush in her hand over an arm-chair, she +seated herself in it, placed another seat facing her, and said: “Come, +sit down here near me on this stool; I will put a cushion on it to make +you more comfortable. Come, I must talk with you.” + +He drew near, seated himself, and put his ear towards her. “Must I take +off my apron?” he asked. + +“Why so?” + +“I foresee that our conversation will revolve about matters pertaining +to the height of romance. I wish to make a suitable appearance.” + +“Nonsense! your apron is very becoming. All that I desire and stipulate +is, that you will accord me most religious attention.” + +She then proceeded to recount to him, point by point, all that had +occurred at Mme. de Lorcy’s. She began her recital in a tranquil tone; +she grew animated; she warmed up by degrees; her eyes sparkled. He +listened to her with deep chagrin; but he gazed on her with pride as he +did so, thinking, “_Mon Dieu_, how beautiful she is, and what a lucky +rascal is this Pole!” + +When she had ended, there was a moment’s pause, during which she left +him to his reflections. As he maintained an ominous silence, she grew +impatient. “Speak,” she exclaimed. “I wish to know your innermost +thoughts.” + +“I think you are adorable.” + +“Oh! please, do for once be serious.” + +“Seriously,” he rejoined, “I am not certain that you are wrong, nor has +it been proved to me that you are right; there remain some doubts.” + +She cried out eagerly: “According to this, the sole realities of this +world are things that can be seen, touched, felt--a retort and its +contents. Beyond this all is null and void, a lie, a cheat. Ah! your +wretched retorts and crucibles! If I followed out this thought, I should +be ready to break every one of them.” + +She cast about her as she spoke so ferocious and threatening a +look, that M. Moriaz trembled for his laboratory, “I beg of you,” he +protested, “have mercy on my poor crucibles, my honest retorts, my +innocent jars! They have nothing to do with this affair. Is it their +fault that the stories you narrate to me so disturb my usual train of +thoughts that I find it wholly impossible to make adroit replies?” + +“You do not, then, believe in the extraordinary?” + +“The extraordinary! Every time I encounter it, I salute it,” replied he, +drawing off his cap and bowing low; “but at the same time I demand its +papers.” + +“Ah! there we are. I really imagined that the investigation had been +made.” + +“It was not conclusive, since it failed to convince Mme. de Lorcy.” + +“Ah! who could convince Mme. de Lorcy? Do you forget how people of the +world are constituted, and how they detest all that astonishes, all +that exceeds their limits, all that they cannot weight with their small +balances, measure with their tiny compasses?” + +“_Peste!_ you are severe on the world; I always fancied that you were +fond of it.” + +“I do not know whether I am fond of it or not; it is certain that +I scarcely should know how to live without it; but I surely may be +permitted to pass an opinion on it, and I often tell myself that +if Christ should reappear among us with his train of publicans and +fisherman--are you listening?--that if the meek and the lowly Jesus +should come to preach his Sermon on the Mount in the Boulevard des +Italiens--” + +“To make a show of probability,” he interrupted, “suppose you were +to place the scene at Montmartre. Frankly, I cannot see what possible +connection there can be between the Christ and your Count Larinski; and, +pray, do not let us enter into a theological discussion; you know it is +wholly out of my line. Religion seems to me an excellent thing, a most +useful thing, and I freely accept Christianity, minus the romantic side, +with which I have no time to occupy myself. You will at least grant +me that, if there are true miracles, there are also false ones. How +distinguish them?” + +“It is the heart that must decide,” said she. + +“Oh! the infallibility of the heart!” exclaimed he. “There never was +council yet that voted that.” + +There was a pause, after which M. Moriaz resumed: “And so, my dear, you +are persuaded that M. Larinski is still free, and that Mme. de Lorcy +lied?” + +“Not at all; if she had lied, she would not have betrayed herself so +naively just now. I accuse her of deceiving herself, or rather of having +wished to deceive herself. Do you know what you are going to do--I mean +this evening--after dinner? You are going to order up the carriage, and +you are going--” + +“To Paris, Rue Mont-Thabor!” he exclaimed, bounding up in his seat. +“Very good, I will put on a dress-coat, and I will say to Count +Larinski: ‘My dear monsieur, I come to demand your hand for my daughter, +who adores you. Certain malicious tongues assert that you are no longer +free; I do not believe them; besides, this would be a mere bagatelle.’ +On the whole, I believe you would do better to put it down in writing +for me; left to myself I never will get through with it; out of my +professor’s chair I have considerable difficulty in finding words!” + +“Dear me, how hasty you are! Who suggests such a thing? Abbe Miollens is +our friend; he is a worthy man, whose testimony would be reliable.” + +“Now this is something like! I see what you mean. At this rate you will +not need to prepare my harangue. Here we have an acceptable idea, a +possible interview. This evening, after my dinner, I shall go see Abbe +Miollens; but it is clearly understood, I presume, that if he confirms +the sentence--” + +“I shall not ask for its repeal, and I promise you that I will be +courageous beyond anything that you can imagine; you shall not so much +as suspect that I even regret my chimera. But, as a fair exchange, you +on your side must make me a promise. If Abbe Miollens--” + +“You know as well as I that you are of age.” + +“I know as well as you that I never will be content without your +consent. Here once more as in the Engadine, I say, ‘Either he or no +one.’” + +“Did I not warn you that when once a formula has been pronounced, one is +apt to keep on repeating it forever?” + +“Either he or no one: that is my last word. Would you not rather that it +should be he? Are you willing to accept him?” + +“I will submit.” + +“With a good grace?” + +“With resignation.” + +“With cheerful resignation?” + +“I shall certainly do my best to acquire it; or, rather, if he makes +you happy, I shall welcome him all the days of my life; in the contrary +case, I will repeat, morning and evening, like Mme. de Lorcy: ‘You would +not listen to me; you ought to have believed me.’” + +“It is agreed; you are a good father, and now we are in perfect +harmony,” she replied, impulsively seizing his two hands, and pressing +them in her own. + +He watched her a moment between his half-closed eyes, and then he cried, +half resentfully: + +“But, _mon Dieu_ why do you love this man?” + +She replied, in a low voice: “Because I love him; this is my sole +reason; but I find it good.” + +“Certainly most decisive. But, come, let us go quickly,” he replied, +rising. “I fear that my retorts and crucibles, if they listen to +you much longer, will fall into a syncope as prolonged as that of M. +Larinski. Was ever such a debate heard of in a chemical laboratory?” + +As soon as dinner was over, M. Moriaz made ready to repair to Maisons, +where Abbe Miollens passed the summer in the vicinity of Mme. de Lorcy. +Mlle. Moiseney followed him to the carriage, and said: + +“You have a remarkable daughter, monsieur! With what courage she has +assumed her role! With what resolution she has renounced an impossible +happiness! Did you observe her during dinner? How tranquil she was! how +attentive! Is she not astonishing?” + +“As astonishing as you are sagacious,” he replied. + +“Ah! undoubtedly; I never thought that she loved him so much as you +imagine I did: but he pleased her; she admired him. Did she ever utter a +word of complaint, or a sigh, on learning the cruel truth? what strength +of mind! what equability of temperament! what nobility of sentiment! You +do not admire her enough, monsieur; you are not proud enough of having +such a daughter. As to me, I glory in having been of some value in her +education. I always made a point of developing her judgment, and putting +her on her guard against all erratic tendencies. Yes, I can safely say +that I took great pains to cultivate and fortify her reason.” + +“I thank you with all my heart,” rejoined M. Moriaz, leaning back in +one corner of the carriage; “you can most assuredly boast of having +accomplished a marvellous work; but I beg of you, mademoiselle, when you +have finished your discourse, will you kindly say to the coachman that I +am ready to start?” + +During the drive, M. Moriaz gave himself up to the most melancholy +reflections; he even tormented himself with sundry reproaches. “We have +acted contrary to good sense,” he thought. “Her imagination has been +taken by storm; in time it would have calmed down. We should have left +her to herself, to her natural defence--her own good judgment, for she +has a large stock of it. I fell on the unlucky idea of calling Mme. +de Lorcy to my aid, and she has spoiled everything by her boasted +_finesse_. As soon as Antoinette had reason to suspect that her choice +was condemned by us, and that we were plotting the enemy’s destruction, +the sympathy, mingled with admiration, which she accorded to M. +Larinski, became transformed into love; the fire smouldering beneath +ashes leaped up into flames. We neglected to count on that passion which +is innate in women, and which phrenologists call combativeness. With her +there is now a cause to be gained, and, when love unites its interests +with cards or with war, it becomes irresistible. Truly our campaign is +greatly jeopardized, unless Heaven or M. Larinski interfere.” + +Thus reasoned M. Moriaz, whom paternal misadventures and recent +experiences had rendered a better psychologist than he ever had been. +While busied with his reflections the carriage drove rapidly onward, and +thirty-five minutes sufficed to reach the little _maison de campagne_ +occupied by Abbe Miollens. He found him in his cabinet, installed in a +cushioned arm-chair embroidered by Mme. de Lorcy, slowly sipping a cup +of excellent tea brought him by the missionaries from China. On his left +was his violin-box, on his right his beloved Horace, Orelli’s edition, +Zurich, 1844. + +Conversation began. As soon as M. Moriaz had pronounced the name of +Count Larinski, the abbe assumed the charmed and contented countenance +of a dog lying in wait for its favourite game. + +He exclaimed, “A most truly admirable man!” + +“Mercy upon us!” thought M. Moriaz. “Here we have an exordium strangely +similar to that of Mlle. Moiseney. Do they think to condemn me to a +state of perpetual admiration of their prodigy? I fear there must +be some kinship of spirit between our friend the abbe and that +crack-brained woman; that he is cousin-german to her at least.” + +“How grateful I am to you, my dear monsieur,” continued Abbe Miollens, +lying back in his chair, “for having given us the pleasure of the +acquaintance of this rare man! It is you who sent him to us; to you +belongs the merit of having discovered him, or invented him, if you +choose.” + +“Oh! I beg of you not to exaggerate,” humbly rejoined M. Moriaz. “He +invented himself, I assure you.” + +“At all events it was you who patronized him, who made him known to us; +without you the world never would have suspected the existence of this +superb genius, this noble character, who was hidden from sight like the +violet in the grass.” + +“He is unquestionably her cousin-german,” thought M. Moriaz. + +“Only think,” continued the abbe, “I have found M. Larinski all over +again in Horace! Yes, Horace has represented him, trait for trait, in +the person of Lollius. You know Marcus Lollius, to whom he addressed Ode +ix. of book iv., and who was consul in the year 733 after the foundation +of Rome. The resemblance is striking; pay attention!” + +Depositing his cup on the table he took the book in his right hand, and +placing the forefinger of his left by turns on his lips or complacently +following with it the lines of especial beauty in the text, he +exclaimed: “Now what do you say to this? ‘Thy soul is wise,’ wrote +Horace to Lollius, ‘and resists with the same constancy the temptations +of happiness as those of adversity--_est animus tibi et secundis +temporibus dubusque rectus_.’ Is not this Count Larinski? Listen +further: ‘Lollius detested fraud and cupidity; he despised money which +seduces most men--_abstinens ducentis ad se cuncta pecuniae_.’ This +trait is very striking; I find even, between ourselves, that our dear +count despises money entirely too much, he turns from it in horror, its +very name is odious to him; he is an Epictetus, he is a Diogenes, he is +an anchorite of ancient times who would live happily in a Thebaid. He +told us himself that it made little difference to him whether he dined +on a piece of bread and a glass of water, or in luxury at the Café +Anglais. But I have not finished. ‘Happy be those,’ exclaimed Horace, +‘who know how to suffer uncomplainingly the hardships of poverty--_qui +duram que callet pauperiem pati_!’ Of whom does he speak--of Lollius, +or of our friend, who not only endures his poverty but who loves it, +cherishes it as a lover adores his mistress? And the final trait, +what to you think of it? Lollius was always ready to die for his +country--‘_non ille pro patria timidus perire_.’ In good faith, is it +not curious? Does it not seem as though Horace had known Count Larinski +at Rome or at Tibur?” + +“I do not doubt it for an instant,” replied M. Moriaz, taking the book +from the hands of Abbe Miollens and placing it respectfully on the +table. “Luckily, our friend Larinski, as you call him, fell upon the +excellent idea of resuscitating himself some thirty years ago, which +procured for us the great joy of meeting him at Saint Moritz; and while +we are on the subject--My dear abbe, have you a free, impartial mind? +Can you listen to me? I have a question to propound, an elucidation to +demand. It is not only the friend to whom I address myself, it is the +confessor, the director of consciences, the man of the whole universe in +whose discretion I place most reliance.” + +“I am all ears,” responded the abbe, crossing the shapely legs in which +he took no little pride. + +M. Moriaz entered at once into the subject that troubled him. It was +some moments before Abbe Miollens divined whither he was tending. +As soon as he had grasped a ray of light, his face contracted, and +uncrossing his limbs, he cried: “Ah, what a misfortune! You will have +to renounce your delightful dream, my dear Monsieur, and, believe me, +no one can be more grieved than I. I fully comprehend with what joy you +would have seen your charming daughter consecrate, I will not say her +fortune, for you know as well as I how little Count Larinski would care +for that, but consecrate, I say, her graces, her beauty, and all the +qualities of her angelic character to the happiness of a man of rare +merit who has been cruelly scourged by Providence. She loves him, she +is loved by him; Heaven would have blest their union. Ah, what a +misfortune! I must repeat it, this marriage is impossible; our friend is +already married.” + +“You are sure of it?” cried M. Moriaz, in a burst of enthusiasm that the +good abbe mistook for an access of despair. + +“I scarcely can pardon myself for causing you this pain. You ask if I am +sure of it! I have it from our friend himself. One evening, apropos of I +scarcely remember what, it occurred to me to ask if he were married, +and he replied, briefly: ‘I thought I had told you so.’ Ah! my dear +professor, it were needless to discuss whether such a marriage would be +a happy one, for it never can take place.” + +“Well, now we have something positive,” M. Moriaz hastened to observe, +“and there is nothing to do but yield to evidence.” + +“Alas! yes,” rejoined the abbe; and, then, after a pause, during which +he wore a reflective air, he added, “However--” + +“There is no ‘however,’ M. l’Abbe. Believe me, your word suffices.” + +“But I might possibly have misunderstood.” + +“I have entire confidence in your ears--they are excellent.” + +“But pray allow me to observe that it is never worth while to despair +too soon. Do you know what? Count Larinski came recently to see me +without finding me at home. I owe him a farewell visit. To-morrow +morning, I promise you, I will call on him.” + +“For what purpose?” interrupted M. Moriaz. “I thank you a thousand +times for your kindly intentions, but God forbid that I should uselessly +interfere with your daily pursuits; your time is too precious! I declare +myself completely edified. I consider the proof firmly established; +there is no further doubt.” + +As Madame de Lorcy had remarked, Abbe Miollens was not one to easily +relax his hold upon an idea he had once deemed good. In vain M. Moriaz +combated his proposition, bestowing secret maledictions on his excess +of zeal; the abbe would not give up, and M. Moriaz was forced to be +resigned. It was agreed that the next day the worthy man should call on +Count Larinski, and that from Paris he should repair to Cormeilles, in +order to communicate to the proper person the result of his mission. +M. Moriaz perceived the advantage of having Antoinette learn from the +abbe’s own lips the fatal truth; and he did not leave without impressing +upon him to be very circumspect, as prudent as a serpent, as discreet +as a father confessor. He started for home with quite a contented mind, +seeing the future lie smoothly and pleasantly before him, and it really +seemed to him that the drive from Maisons to Cormeilles was a much +shorter and more agreeable one than that from Cormeilles to Maisons. + +Samuel Brohl was seated before an empty trunk, which he was apparently +about to pack, when he heard some one knock at his door. He went to open +it and found himself face to face with Abbe Miollens. From the moment of +their first meeting, Samuel Brohl had conceived for the abbe that warm +sympathy, that strong liking, with which he was always inspired by +people in whom he believed he recognised useful animals who might be +of advantage to him, whom he considered destined to render him some +essential service. He seldom mistook; he was a admirable diagnostician; +he recognised at first sight the divine impress of predestination. He +gave the most cordial reception to his reverend friend, and ushered him +into his modest quarters with all the more _empressement_, because he +detected at once the mysterious, rather agitated air he wore. “Does he +come in the quality of a diplomatic agent, charged with some mission +extraordinary?” he asked himself. On his side the abbe studied Samuel +Brohl without seeming to do so. He was struck with his physiognomy, +which expressed at this moment a manly yet sorrowful pride. His eyes +betrayed at intervals the secret of some heroic grief that he had sworn +to repress before men, and to confess to God alone. + +He sat down with his guest, and they began to talk; but the abbe +directed the conversation into topics of the greatest indifference. +Samuel Brohl listened to him and replied with a melancholy grace. Lively +as was his curiosity he well knew how to hold it in check. Samuel Brohl +never had been in a hurry; during the month that had elapsed he had +proved that he knew how to wait--a faculty lacking in more diplomates +than one. + +Abbe Miollens’s call had lasted during the usual time allotted to a +polite visit, and the worthy man seemed about to depart, when, pointing +with his forefinger to the open valise, he remarked: “I see here +preparations that grieve me. I did dream, my dear count, of inviting +you to Maisons. I have a spare chamber there which I might offer to you. +_Hoc erat in votis_, I should indeed have been happy to have had you for +a guest. We should have chatted and made music to our hearts’ content, +close by a window opening on a garden. ‘Hae latebrae dulces, etiam, si +credis, amoenae.’ But, alas! you are going to leave us; you do not +care for the friendship accorded you here. Has Vienna such superior +attractions for you? But I remember, you will doubtless be restored +there to a pleasant home, a charming wife, children perhaps who----” + +Samuel looked at him with an astonished, confused air, as he had +viewed Mme. de Lorcy when she undertook to speak to him of the Countess +Larinski. “What do you mean?” he finally asked. + +“Why, did you not confide to me yourself that you were married?” + +Samuel opened wide his eyes; during some moments he seemed to be in +a dream; then, suddenly putting his hand to his brow and beginning to +smile, he said: “Ah! I see--I see. Did you take me literally? I thought +you understood what I said. No, my dear abbe, I am not married, and I +never shall marry; but there are free unions as sacred, as indissoluble +as marriage.” + +The abbe knit his brows, his countenance assumed an expression of +chagrin and disapproval. He was about delivering to his dear count a +sermon on the immorality and positive danger of free unions, but +Samuel Brohl gave him no time. “I am not going to Vienna to rejoin +my mistress,” he interposed. “She never leaves me, she accompanies me +everywhere; she is here.” + +Abbe Miollens cast about him a startled, bewildered gaze, expecting to +see a woman start out of some closet or come forward from behind some +curtain. + +“I tell you that she is here,” repeated Samuel Brohl, pointing to an +alabaster statuette, posed on a _piedouche_. The statuette represented a +woman bound tightly, on whom two Cossacks were inflicting the knout; the +socle bore the inscription, “Polonia vincta et flagellata.” + +The abbe’s countenance became transformed in the twinkling of an eye, +the wrinkles smoothed away from his brow, his mouth relaxed, a joyous +light shone in his eyes. “How well it is that I came!” thought he. “And +under what obligations M. Moriaz will be to me!” + +Turning towards Samuel he exclaimed: + +“I am simply a fool; I imagined--Ah! I comprehend, your mistress is +Poland; this is delightful, and it is truly a union that is as sacred +as marriage. It has, besides, this advantage--that it interferes with +nothing else. Poland is not jealous, and if, peradventure, you should +meet a woman worthy of you whom you would like to marry, your mistress +would have nothing to say against it. To speak accurately, however, +she is not your mistress; one’s country is one’s mother, and reasonable +mothers never prevent their sons from marrying.” + +It was now Samuel’s turn to assume a stern and sombre countenance. His +eye fixed upon the statuette, he replied: + +“You deceive yourself, M. l’Abbe, I belong to her, I have no longer the +right to dispose of either my heart, or my soul, or my life; she will +have my every thought and my last drop of blood. I am bound to her by my +vows quite as much, I think, as is the monk by his.” + +“Excuse me, my dear count,” said the abbe; “this is fanaticism, or +I greatly mistake. Since when have patriots come to take the vow of +celibacy? Their first duty is to become the fathers of children who will +become good citizens. The day when there will cease to be Poles, there +will cease also to be a Poland.” + +Samuel Brohl interrupted him, pressing his arm earnestly, and saying: + +“Look at me well; have I not the appearance of an adventurer?” The abbe +recoiled. “This word shocks you?” continued Samuel. “Yes, I am a man of +adventures, born to be always on my feet, and ready to start off at a +moment’s warning. Marriage was not instituted for those whose lives are +liable at any time to be in jeopardy.” With a tragic accent, he added: +“You know what occurred in Bosnia. How do we know that war may not very +shortly be proclaimed, and who can foresee the consequences? I must hold +myself in readiness for the great day. Perhaps an inscrutable Providence +may ere long offer me a new occasion to risk my life for my country; +perhaps Poland will call me, crying, ‘Come, I have need of thee!’ If I +should respond: ‘I belong no more to myself, I have given my heart to +a woman who holds me in chains; I have henceforth a roof, a family, a +hearthstone, dear ties that I dare not break!’ I ask you, M. l’Abbe, +would not Poland have a right to say to me, ‘Thou hast violated thy vow; +thou hast denied me; upon thy head rest forever my maledictions?’” + +Abbe Miollens had just taken a pinch of snuff, and he hearkened to this +harangue, tapping his fingers impatiently on the lid of his handsome +gold snuff-box, which had been presented to him by the most amiable of +his penitents. + +“If this be the way you view it,” replied he, “is your conscience quite +tranquil, my dear friend? for you will permit me, I trust, to call you +so. Ay, is it sure that from your standpoint your conscience has no +accusations to make you? Is it certain that your heart has not been +unfaithful to its mistress? If I may believe a certain rumour that has +reached my ear, there took place a most singular scene yesterday at the +house of Mme. de Lorcy.” + +Samuel Brohl trembled violently; he changed colour; he buried his face +in his hands, doubtless to hide from the abbe the blushes remorse had +caused to mantle his cheeks. In a faint voice he murmured: + +“Not a word more! you know not how deep a wound you have probed.” + +“It is, then, true that you love Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz?” asked the +abbe. + +“I have sworn that she never shall know it,” replied Samuel, in accents +of the most humble contrition. “Yesterday I had the unworthy weakness to +betray myself. _Mon Dieu!_ what must she have thought of me?” + +As he spoke thus, his face buried in his hands, he slightly moved apart +his fingers, and fixed upon the abbe two glittering eyes that, like +cats’ eyes, were capable of seeing clearly in the dark. + +“What she thinks of you!” echoed the abbe, taking a fresh pinch of +snuff. “Bah! my dear count, women never are angry when a man swoons +away because of their bright eyes, especially when this man is a noble +chevalier, a true knight of the Round Table. I have reason to believe +that Mlle. Moriaz did not take your accident unkindly. Shall I tell +you my whole thought? I should not be surprised if you had touched her +heart, and that, if you take the pains, you may flatter yourself with +the hope of one day being loved by her.” + +At this moment the voice of his worthy friend appeared to Samuel Brohl +the most harmonious of all music. He felt a delicious thrill quiver +through his frame. The abbe was telling him nothing he had not known +before; but there are things of which we are certain, things that we +have told ourselves a hundred times, and yet that seem new when told us +for the first time by another. + +“You are not misleading me?” ejaculated Samuel Brohl, overwhelmed with +joy, transported beyond himself. “Can it really be true!--One day I may +flatter myself--one day she may judge me worthy--Ah! what a glorious +vision you cause to pass before my eyes! How good and cruel together you +are to me! What bitterness is intermingled with the ineffable sweetness +of your words! No, I never could have believed that there could be so +much joy in anguish, so much anguish in joy.” + +“What would you imply, my dear count?” interposed Abbe Miollens. “Have +you need of a negotiator? I can boast of having had some experience in +that line. I am wholly at your service.” + +These words calmed Samuel Brohl. Quickly recovering himself, he coldly +rejoined: + +“A negotiator? What occasion would I have for a negotiator? Do not +delude me with a chimera, and above all do not tempt me to sacrifice +my honour to it. This height of felicity that you offer to me I must +renounce forever; I have told you why.” + +Abbe Miollens was at first inclined to be indignant; he even took the +liberty to rebuke, to expostulate with his noble friend. He endeavoured +to prove to him that his principles were too rigorous, that such a thing +is possible as exaggeration in virtue, too great refinement in delicacy +of conscience. He represented to him that noble souls should beware of +exaltation of sentiment. He cited the Gospels, he cited Bossuet, he +also cited his well-beloved Horace, who censored all that was ultra +or excessive, and recommended the sage to flee all extremities. His +reasoning was weak against the unwavering resolution of Samuel, who +resisted, with the firmness of a rock, all his remonstrances, and +finally ended these with the words: + +“Peace, I implore you! Respect my folly, which is surely wisdom in the +eyes of God. I repeat it to you, I am no longer free, and, even if I +were, do you not know that there is between Mlle. Moriaz and myself an +insurmountable barrier?” + +“And pray, what is that?” demanded the abbe. + +“Her fortune and my pride,” said Samuel. “She is rich, I am poor; this +adorable being is not made for me. I told Mme. de Lorcy one day what +I thought of this kind of alliances, or, to speak more clearly, of +bargains. Yes, my revered friend, I love Mlle. Moriaz with an ardour of +passion with which I reproach myself as though it were a crime. Nothing +remains to me but to avoid seeing her, and I never will see her again. +Let me follow to its end my solitary and rugged path. One consolation +will accompany me: I can say that happiness has not been denied to me: +that it is my conscience, admonished from on high, which has refused to +accept it, and there is a divine sweetness in great trials religiously +accepted. Believe me, it is God who speaks to me, as he spoke to me of +old in San Francisco, to enjoin me to forsake everything and give my +blood for my country. I recognise his voice, which to-day bids my heart +be silent and immolate itself on the altar of its chosen cause. God and +Poland! Beyond this, my watch-word, I have no longer the right to yield +to anything.” + +And, turning towards the statuette, he exclaimed: “It is at her feet +that I lay down my dolorous offering; she it is who will cure my bruised +and broken heart.” + +Samuel Brohl spoke in a voice thrilling with emotion; the breath of the +Divine Spirit seemed to play through his hair, and make his eyes grow +humid. The eyes of the good abbe also grew moist: he was profoundly +moved; he gazed with veneration upon this hero; he was filled with +respect for this antique character, for this truly celestial soul. He +never had seen anything like it, either in the odes or in the epistles +of Horace. Lollius himself was surpassed. Transported with admiration, +he opened wide his arms to Samuel Brohl, spreading them out their full +length, as though otherwise they might fail to accomplish their object, +and, clasping him to his bosom, he cried: + +“Ah! my dear count, how grand you are! You are immense as the world!” + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +Abbe Miollens hastened to repair to Cormeilles, where he gave a faithful +circumstantial account of his conference with Count Larinski. He was +still warm from the interview, and he gave free vent to the effusions of +his enthusiasm. He struck up a Canticle of Zion in honour of the antique +soul, the celestial soul, which had just been revealing to him all its +hidden treasures. M. Moriaz, both astonished and scandalized, observed, +dryly: + +“You are right, this Pole is a prodigy; he should either be canonized or +hanged, I do not know which.” + +Antoinette said not a word; she kept her reflections to herself. She +retired to her chamber, where she paced to and fro for some time, +uncertain regarding what she was about to do, or, rather more restless +than uncertain. Several times she approached her writing-table, and +gazed earnestly at her inkstand; then, seized with a sudden scruple, she +would move away. At last she formed a resolute decision, seized her pen, +and wrote the following lines: + +“MONSIEUR: Before setting out for Vienna, will you be so good as to come +and pass some moments at Cormeilles? I desire to have a conversation +with you in the presence of my father. + +“Accept, monsieur, I beg of you, the expression of my most profound +esteem. + +“ANTOINETTE MORIAZ.” + +The next morning she received by the first mail the response she +awaited, and which was thus fashioned: + +“This test would be more than my courage could endure. I never shall see +you again, for, should I do so, I would be a lost man.” + +This short response caused Mlle. Moriaz a disappointment full of +bitterness, and blended with no little wrath. She held in her hand a +pencil, which she deliberately snapped in two, apparently to console +herself for not having broken the proud and obstinate will of Count +Abel Larinski. And yet can one break iron or a diamond? The carrier +had brought her at the same time another letter, which she opened +mechanically, merely to satisfy her conscience. She ran through the +first lines without succeeding in comprehending a single word that she +read. Suddenly her attention became riveted, her face brightened up, +her eyes kindled. This letter, which a kind Providence had sent her as a +supreme resource in her distress, was from the hand of Mlle. Galet, and +here was what this retired florist of the Rue Mouffetard wrote: + +“MA CHERE DEMOISELLE: I learn that you have returned. What happiness for +me! and how I long to see you! You are my good angel, whom I should +like to see every day of my life, and the time has seemed so long to me +without you. When you enter the garret of the poor, infirm old woman, +it seems to her as though there were three suns in the heavens; when you +abandon her, the blackness of midnight surrounds her. Mme. de Lorcy has +been very good to me. As my angel requested her, she came a fortnight +since to pay me the quarter due of my pension. She is a very charitable +lady, and she dresses beautifully; but she is a little hard on poor +people. She asks a great many questions; she wants to know everything. +She reproached me with spending too much, being too fond of luxury, and +you know how that is. She forgets that everything is higher priced than +it used to be, that meat and vegetables are exorbitant, and that just +now eggs cost one franc and fifty centimes a dozen. Besides, a poor +creature, deprived of the use of her limbs, as I am, cannot go to market +herself, and it is quite possible that my _femme de menage_ does not +purchase as wisely as she might. I know I have great scenes with her +sometimes for bringing me early vegetables; _le bon Dieu_ can, at least, +bear me witness that I am no glutton. + +“The good Mme. de Lorcy scolded me about a bouquet of camellias she saw +on my table, just like those for which I have been grateful to my angel. +I don’t know what notions she got into her head about them. Ah! +well, _ma chere demoiselle_, I have learned since that these double +camellias--they are variegated, red and white--came to me from a man, +for, at present, as it would appear, men have taken to give me bouquets +and making me visits; it is rather late in the day. The particular man +to whom I refer presented himself one fine morning, and, telling me that +you had spoken to him of me, said that he wished to assure himself +that I was well and wanted nothing. He returned several times, always +pampering me with some attention or other. But the best of all was when +he came to tell me that my angel had returned. What a man he is! he has +surely dropped right down from the skies! One evening when I was sick he +gave me my medicine himself, and would have sat up with me all night +if I had been willing to let him. You must tell me who he is, for +it puzzles me greatly. He has the head of some grand lion; he is as +generous as he is handsome, but very sad. He must have some great sorrow +on his heart. The misfortune, so far as I am concerned, is that he +cannot spoil me much longer--it is almost over now. He expects to leave +here in two days; and he has announced to me that he will come to make +his adieus, to-morrow afternoon. + +“You will come soon, won’t you, _ma chere demoiselle_? I burn with +impatience to embrace you, since you permit me to embrace you. You are +my angel and my sunshine, and I am your very humble and devoted servant, + +“LOUISE GALET.” + +This letter of Mlle. Louise Galet continued nothing definite, beyond, +perhaps, the passage relative to the early vegetables, and the +supposed scenes with her _chambriere_. Whatever may have been the good +demoiselle’s past record, she certainly was not void of principles, and +she prided herself on her truthfulness; only she did not always see +the necessity of telling everything she knew; in her narratives she +frequently omitted certain details. She had written at the instigation +of Samuel Brohl, who had not explained to her his motives. To be sure, +she had partially divined these, being shrewd and sly. He had commended +himself to her discretion, for which he had paid liberally. Mlle. Galet +had at first refused the round sum he had offered her; she had ended by +accepting it with tender gratitude. These little pampering attentions +make good friends. + +An audacious idea suddenly came to Mlle. Moriaz; there was no time to +recoil from it. She ordered up her coupe. M. Moriaz had just gone out +to make a call in the neighbourhood. She determined to profit by his +absence, and besought Mlle. Moiseney to make ready in haste to accompany +her to Paris, where she had to confer with her dressmaker. Ten minutes +later she stepped into her carriage, having ordered her coachman to +drive like the wind. + +Her dressmaker did not detain her long; from the Rue de la Paix she +ordered to be driven to No. 27 Rue Mouffetard. She never was in the +habit of permitting Mlle. Moiseney, who was very short of breath, to +climb with her to the fifth story, where Mlle. Galet lodged; upon this +occasion she indicated to her an express order to remain peaceably below +in the coupe to await her return. + +She slowly mounted the stairs; on her way up she encountered a servant, +who informed her that Mlle. Galet was lying down taking a nap, being +somewhat indisposed, but that the key was in the door. The apartment of +which Mlle. Moriaz was in quest was composed of three rooms, a vestibule +serving as a kitchen, a tiny _salon_, and a bed-chamber. She paused a +few moments in the vestibule to regain her breath, to gather together +all her courage, to compose her mind; she had at once divined that there +was some one in the _salon_. She entered; Mlle. Galet was not there, but +he was there, the man whom she had come to seek. Apparently, he awaited +the awakening of the mistress of the place. In perceiving the woman whom +he had sworn never to see again, he trembled violently, and his eyes +sought some loophole of escape; there was none. Standing upon the +threshold, Antoinette barred the passage. She looked fixedly at him and +felt certain of her victory; he had the air of one vanquished, and his +defeat resembled a complete routing. + +She crossed her arms, she smiled, and, in a firm, half-mocking tone, +said: + +“So this is the way you rob me of my poor people! They flourish under +it, I am well aware. Confess now that there is a little hypocrisy in +your virtue. Mlle. Galet never for a moment doubted that these famous +camellias were given for my sake. Bouquets costing sixty francs! +absolute folly! How you despise money! Why, then, do you not despise +mine? You are afraid of it, you fear to burn your fingers by touching +it. You will not aid me to throw it out of the windows? Your poor and +mine will surely pick it up. Say, will you not? My fortune is not such a +great affair; but it is certain that I alone do not suffice to spend it +properly; there is plenty for two--for two would really only be one. You +cannot consent to share it with me? You are too proud--that is it. The +day before yesterday you were playing comedy; you do not love me. It +costs little to owe something to those we love.” + +He made a gesture of despair and cried: + +“I implore you, let me go!” + +“Presently; I propose telling you first all that is in my mind. I do +not place much reliance on your boasted nobility of spirit; it is pride, +egotistical pride. Yes, your pride is your god--a pitiful sort of a god! +And as to Poland--” He winced at this word. After a pause, Antoinette +continued: “It is she herself who will give, or rather lend, you to me. +I solemnly promise that if ever she has need of you I will say to her, +‘Here he is, take him’; and to you, yourself, I will say, ‘She calls +you--go.’ But speak to me and look at me; you will not die of so doing. +Are you so very much afraid of me? Come, have courage to repeat to me +what you have said to others?” + +He fell back into a chair, where he remained, his arms hanging +helplessly at his sides, his head drooping on his breast, and he +murmured: + +“I knew well that if I saw you again I should be lost.” + +“Say, rather, saved. Your mind was sick; I have cured you. I work +miracles; you once took the pains to write me so. Will you touch my +hand? That will not bind you to anything; you can return it to me if you +choose.” + +He took the hand she extended to him; he did not carry it to his lips, +but he held it within his own. + +“Listen to me,” she resumed. “To-day, this very hour, you will set out +for Cormeilles, and you will say to my father: ‘She has given me her +hand; it has seemed good to me to keep it; allow me to do so?’ Is it +agreed upon? Will you obey me?” + +He exclaimed: “You are here, you speak to me, the world has disappeared; +henceforth I believe only in you!” + +“Well done! You see when two people frankly discuss matters they soon +come to an understanding; but the main essential is to see each other. +Since you are so wise when you see me, I naturally desire to have +you see me always. There--take that!” And she handed him a medallion +containing her portrait; then she moved towards the door. On the +threshold she turned. “Please tell Mlle. Galet,” said she, “that I +respect her nap, and will return to-morrow. Mlle. Moiseney awaits me, +and must be growing impatient. I have your word of honour? Adieu, then, +until this evening. I must hasten away.” + +And she did hasten, or, rather, she flew away. + +Returning from as well as driving into Paris, the coachman put his +horses to full speed, and Cormeilles was reached before the soup was +cold. Nevertheless, M. Moriaz had had abundant time for anxiety. He did +not take his seat at table without first questioning Mlle. Moiseney; +knowing nothing, she could give him no information; but she responded +indefinitely to his queries with that air of mystery beneath which +it was her wont to disguise her ignorance. He resolved to question +Antoinette after dinner. She anticipated him, taking him aside and +recounting to him what had occurred. + +“I presume,” said she, “that henceforth you will believe in his pride +and his disinterestedness. Did I not foretell you that I should have to +put myself on my knees to compel him to marry me?” + +He could not repress a movement of indignation. + +“Oh, reassure yourself!” she resumed; “that is only my way of speaking. +He was at my feet and I was standing.” + +M. Moriaz opened his lips and closed them again three times without +speaking. He finally contented himself with a gesture, which signified, +“The die is cast, let come what must.” + +Samuel Brohl religiously kept his word. After having made a most +faultless toilet, he repaired by the railway to Argenteuil, where he +took a carriage. He reached Cormeilles as the clock struck nine. He +was ushered into the _salon_, where M. Moriaz was reading his journal. +Samuel was pale, and his lips trembled with emotion. He greeted M. +Moriaz with profound respect, saying: + +“I feel, monsieur, like a criminal. Be merciful, and refuse her to me.” + +M. Moriaz replied: “The fact is, you come, monsieur, in the words of the +evangelist, ‘like a thief in the night’; but I have nothing to refuse +you. You are not the son-in-law I frankly avow, whom I should have +chosen. This matters not; my daughter belongs to herself, she is +mistress of her own actions, and I have no reason to believe that she +errs in her choice. You are a man of taste and of honour, and you know +the worth of what she has given you. If you render Antoinette happy, you +will find in me a warm friend. I have said all that is necessary; let us +suppose that you have replied to me, and talk of something else.” + +Samuel Brohl considered the matter settled; he insisted no longer, and +entered at once upon another topic. He knew how to be agreeable and +dignified at the same time. He was as amiable and gracious as his lively +emotion would permit. M. Moriaz was obliged to confess to himself that +Count Larinski was as good company at Cormeilles as he had been at Saint +Moritz, and had no other fault than having taken it into his head to +become his son-in-law. + +Their interview was a prolonged one. During this time Antoinette +had been promenading the walk in front of the house, inhaling the +jasmine-perfumed air, pouring out her heart to the night and to the +stars. Her happy reverie was troubled only by the presence of a bat, +flitting incessantly from one end of the terrace to the other, flapping +its wings about her head. The loathsome creature seemed to be +especially in quest of her, circling around and above her with obstinate +persistency, even venturing to graze her hair in passing; Antoinette +even fancied that she could distinguish its hideous face, with deep +pouches and long ears, and she moved away, quivering with disgust. + +She heard a step on the gravel-walk. Samuel Brohl had taken leave of +M. Moriaz and was crossing the terrace to regain his carriage. He +recognised Antoinette, approached her and clasped on her wrist a +bracelet he held in his hand, saying as he did so: “What could I give +you that would equal in value the medallion you deigned to offer me and +that should never leave me? However, here is a trinket by which I set +great store. My mother loved it; she always refused to part with it, +even in the time of her greatest distress; she wore it on her arm when +she died.” + +We are not all moulded alike; and there is no human clay in which are +not intermingled some spangles of gold. Intriguers as well as downright +knaves are often capable of experiencing moments of sincere and pure +sentiments; in certain encounters every human being rises superior to +him-or herself. The upper part of Mlle. Moriaz’s face was shaded by her +red hood, the lower part lit up by the moon, which was slowly rising +above the hills. Samuel Brohl contemplated her in silence; she seemed +to him as beautiful as a dream. During two entire minutes he forgot that +she had an income of a hundred thousand livres, and that, according to +all probabilities, M. Moriaz would die one day. His head was completely +turned by the thought that this woman loved him, that soon she would be +his. Yes, for precisely two minutes, Samuel Brohl was as passionately in +love with Mlle. Moriaz as might, perchance, have been Count Larinski. + +He could not resist the impulse that transported him. He folded in his +arms the slender, supple form of Antoinette, and imprinted upon her hair +a kiss of flame, a true Polish kiss. She offered no resistance; but at +this moment the bat that had already forced upon her its distasteful +company renewed the attack, struck her full in the face, and stuck fast +in her hood. Antoinette felt the touch of its cold, clammy wings, of +its hooked claws. She tore the hood from her head and flung it away in +horror. Samuel Brohl sprang forward to pick it up, pressed it to his +lips, and made his escape, like a thief carrying off his booty. + +When Antoinette re-entered the _salon_, she found there Mlle. Moiseney, +whose boisterous, overwhelming joy had just put M. Moriaz to flight. +This time Mlle. Moiseney knew everything. She had seen Samuel Brohl +arrive, she had been unable to control her overweening curiosity, and, +without the slightest scruples, she had listened at the door. She cast +herself into Antoinette’s arms, pressed her to her heart, and cried: +“Ah, my dear! oh, my dear! Did I not always say that it would end thus?” + +Mlle. Moriaz hastened to free herself from her embraces; she felt the +need of being alone. On entering her chamber she took a hasty survey of +it: her furniture, her pretty knick-knacks, her rose-tined tapestry, +the muslin hangings of her bed, the large silver crucifix hanging on the +extreme wall, all seemed to regard her with astonishment, asking, “What +has happened?” And she replied: + +“You are right, something has happened.” + +She remained in contemplation before a portrait of her mother, whom she +had lost very young. + +“I have been told,” she mused, “that you were a great romance-reader. I +do not care for romances at all--I scarcely ever read them; but I have +just been making one myself, with which you would not be discontented. +This man would astonish you a little; he would please you still more. +Some hours ago he seemed lost to me forever. I brazened it out. I went +in search of him, and when he saw me he surrendered. Only now he +was with me on the terrace; his lips touched me here on my hair, and +thrilled me from head to foot. Do not feel displeased with me--his are +pure and royal lips! They have been touched by the sacred fire; they +never have lied; never have there fallen from them other than proud and +noble words; they modestly recount the history of a life without blemish +Ah! why are you not here? I have a thousand things to say to you, which +you alone could comprehend; others do not comprehend me.” + +She began her toilet for the night. When she had unfastened her hair, +she remembered that there was One in her chamber who could comprehend +everything, and to whom she had yet said nothing. She knelt down, +her wealth of hair streaming over her beautiful shoulders, her hands +reverently clasped, her eyes fixed on the silver crucifix, and she said, +in a low tone: + +“Forgive me that I have forgotten thee, thou who never hast forgotten +me! I return thanks to thee that thou hast granted my desires; thou hast +given me the happiness of which I have dreamed without daring to ask it. +Ah, yes, I am happy, perfectly happy! I promise thee that I will cast +the reflection of my joy among the poor and unfortunate of this world: I +will love them as I have never loved them before! When we give them food +and drink, we give it also unto thee; and when we give them flowers, +this crown of thorns that has wounded thy brow bursts into bloom. I will +give them flowers and bread. It is vain to say that thou art a jealous +God. Full as may be my heart, thou knowest that there is always room +for thee, and that thou never canst knock at the door without my crying: +‘Enter; the house and all that therein is belong unto thee! My happiness +blesses thee: oh, bless thou it!’” + +While Mlle. Moriaz thus held communion with her crucifix, Samuel Brohl +was rolling along the great highway from Cormeilles to Argenteuil, +a distance of six kilometres. His head was held erect, his face was +radiant, his eyes were like balls of fire, his temples throbbed, and it +seemed to him that his dilated chest might have held the world. He was +speaking to himself--murmuring over and over again the same phrase. “She +is mine!” he repeated to the vines bordering the road, to the mill of +Trouillet, to the Sannois Hills, whose vague outlines loomed up against +the sky. “She is mine!” he cried to the moon, which this evening shone +for him alone, whose sole occupation was to gaze upon Samuel Brohl. It +was plain to see that she was in the secret, that she knew that before +long Samuel Brohl would marry Mlle. Moriaz. She had donned her festal +garments to celebrate this marvellous adventure; her great gleaming face +expressed sympathy and joy. + +Although he had exhorted his coachman to make haste, Samuel missed +the train, which was the last. He decided to put up for the night at +Argenteuil, and sought hospitality at the inn of the Coeur-Volant, where +he ordered served forthwith a great bowl of punch, his favourite drink. +He betook himself to bed in the full expectation of enjoying most +delicious dreams; but his sleep was troubled by a truly disagreeable +incident. Glorious days are at times succeeded by most wretched nights, +and the inn of Coeur-Volant was destined to leave most disagreeable +reminiscences with Samuel Brohl. + +Towards four o’clock he heard some one knocking at his door, and a voice +not unknown to him cried: + +“Open, I beseech you!” + +He was seized with an insupportable anguish; he felt like one paralyzed, +and it was with great difficulty that he rose up in a sitting posture. +He remembered that the bolt was drawn, and this reassured him. What was +not his stupefied amazement to see the bolt glide back in its shaft! The +door opened; some one entered, slowly approached Samuel, drew back the +curtains of his bed, and bent towards him, fixing upon him great eager +eyes that he recognised. They were singular eyes, these, at once full of +sweetness and full of fire, of audacity and of candour; a child, a grand +soul, an unbalanced weakling--all this in one was in this gaze. + +Samuel Brohl quailed with horror. He tried to speak, but his tongue was +powerless to move. He made desperate efforts to unloose it; he finally +succeeded in moving his lips, and he murmured: + +“Is it you, Abel? I believed you dead.” + +Evidently Count Abel, the veritable Abel Larinski, was not dead. He was +on his feet, his eyes were terribly wide open, and his face never had +worn more life-like colouring. Nothing remained but to believe that +he had been buried alive, and that he had been resuscitated. In coming +forth from the tomb, he had carried with him a portion of its dust; +his hair was covered with a singular powder of an earthy hue, and at +intervals he shook himself as though to make it fall from him. + +With the exception of this there was nothing alarming in his appearance; +but a mocking, half-crafty smile played about his lips. After a long +pause, he said to Samuel: + +“Yes, it is indeed I. You did not expect me?” + +“Are you sure that you are not dead?” rejoined Samuel. + +“Perfectly sure,” he replied, once more shaking a mass of dust from his +head. “Does my return incommode you, Samuel Brohl?” he added. “Your name +is Samuel, I believe; it is a pretty name. Why have you taken mine? You +must give it back to me.” + +“Not to-day,” pleaded Samuel, in a stifled voice, “nor to-morrow, nor +the day after to-morrow; but after the marriage.” + +Count Abel burst out laughing, which was by no means his habit, and +which therefore greatly surprised Samuel. Then he cried: + +“It is I she will marry--she will be the Countess Larinski.” + +Suddenly the door opened again, and Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz appeared, +robed in white like a bride, a crown on her head, a bouquet in her +hand. She bent her steps towards Samuel, but the apparition arrested her +progress, saying: + +“It is not he whom you love; it is my history. Do you not see that this +is a false Pole? His father was a German Jew, who kept a tavern. Here it +was that this hero grew up. I will relate to you how.” + +Here Samuel put his hand over his mouth, and stammered: “Oh, for mercy’s +sake, say nothing!” + +Heeding him not, the apparition continued: “Yes, Samuel Brohl is a +hero. For five years he was the pledged lover of an old woman, and he +fulfilled all the duties of his post. This cherished hero well earned +his money. Are you not eager to be called Mme. Brohl?” + +With these words, he opened wide his arms to Mlle. Moriaz, who fixed +upon him a gaze at the same time astonishing and tender, and straining +her to his bosom, kissed her hair and her crown. + +Then Samuel Brohl recovered strength, life, movement; clinching his +hands, he sprang forward to dispute with Abel Larinski his prey. +Suddenly, with a shiver of terror and dismay, he paused; he had heard +proceeding from a distant corner of the chamber a shrill, malignant +laugh. He turned, and distinctly perceived his father--a greasy cap +on his head, wrapped in a forlorn, threadbare, dirty caftan. This was +unquestionably Jeremiah Brohl, and this night it seemed truly that the +whole world had arisen from the dead. The little old man continued to +laugh jeeringly; then in a sharp, peevish voice, he cried: “_Schandbube! +vermaledeiter Schlingel! ich will dich zu Brei schlagen!_” which +signifies: “Scoundrel! accursed blackguard! I will beat you to a jelly!” + It was a mode of address that Samuel had heard often in his infancy; +but familiar though he might be with paternal amenities, when he saw +his father uplift a withered, claw-like hand, a cry escaped his lips; +he started back to evade the blow, entangled his feet in the legs of a +chair, stumbled, and flung himself violently against a table. + +He opened his eyes and saw no one. He ran to the window and threw open +the shutter; the growing dawn illumined the chamber with its grayish +light. Thank God! there was no one there. The vision had been so real +that it was some time before Samuel Brohl could fully regain his senses, +and persuade himself that his nightmare was forever dissipated, that +phantoms were phantoms, that cemeteries do not surrender their prey. +When he had once acquired this rejoicing conviction, he spoke to +the dead man who had appeared to him, and whose provoking visit had +indiscreetly troubled his sleep, and with considerable hauteur he said, +in a tone of superb defiance: “We must be resigned, my poor Abel; we +shall see each other again only in the valley of Jehosaphat; I have seen +twenty shovelfuls of earth cast upon you--you are dead; I live, and she +is mine!” + +Thereupon he hastened to settle his account, and to quit the +Coeur-Volant, within whose walls he promised himself never again to set +foot. + +At the very same moment, M. Moriaz, who had risen early, was engaged in +writing the following letter: + +“It is done, my dear friend--I have yielded. Pray, do not reproach me +with my weakness; what else could I do? When one has been for twenty +years the most submissive of fathers, one does not emancipate one’s self +in a day; I never have been in the habit of erecting barriers, and it is +scarcely likely that I could learn to do so at my age. Ah! _mon Dieu!_ +who knows if, after all, her heart has not counselled her well, if one +day she will not satisfy us all that she was in the right. It must be +confessed that this _diable_ of a man has an indescribable charm about +him. I can detect only one fault in him: he has committed the error +of existing at all; it is a grave error, I admit, but thus far I have +nothing else with which to reproach him. + +“When one loses a battle, nothing remains but to plan an orderly +retreat. Count Larinski, I regret to inform you, is armed with all +needful weapons; he carries with him his certificate of birth, and +certificate of the registry of death of both his parents. No pretext can +be made on this score, and my future son-in-law will not aid me to gain +time. The sole point upon which we must henceforth direct our attention +is the contract. We scarcely can take too many precautions; we must see +that this Pole’s hands are absolutely tied. If you will permit me, I +will one day ask you to confer with me and my notary, who is also yours. +I venture to hope that upon this point Antoinette will consent to be +guided by our counsels. + +“I am not gay, my friend; but, having been born a philosopher, I bear +my misfortunes patiently, and I will forthwith reread _Le Monde comme +il va, ou la Vision de Babouc_, in order to endeavour to persuade myself +that, if all is not well, all is at least supportable.” + +The evening of the same day, M. Moriaz received the following response: + +“I never will pardon you. You are a great chemist, I grant, but a +pitiful, a most deplorable father. Your weakness, which well merits +another name, is without excuse. You should have resisted; you should +have stood your ground firmly. Antoinette, although she is of age, never +in the world would have decided to address to you a formal request of +consent to this marriage. She would have made some scenes; she would +have pouted; she would have endeavoured to soften you by assuming the +airs of a tearful, heart-broken widow; she would have draped herself in +black crape. And after that? Desperate case! These Artemisias are very +tiresome, I admit; but one can accustom one’s self to anything. Should +philosophers, who plead such sublime indifference about the affairs of +this mundane sphere, be at the mercy of a fit of the sulks, or a dress +of black crape? Besides, black is all the fashion just now, even for +those who are not in mourning. + +“You speak of contracts! You are surely jesting! What! distrustful of +a Pole? take precautions against an antique man?--I quote from Abbe +Miollens--against a soul as noble as great? Think what you are doing! At +the mere thought of his disinterestedness being called into question, M. +Larinski would swoon away as he did in my _salon_. It is a little way he +has, which is most excellent, since it proves successful. Do not think +of such trifles as contracts; marry them with equal rights, and leave +the consequences to Providence! Follies have neither beauty nor merit, +unless they are complete. Ah, my good friend, Poland has its charm, has +it? Admirable! But you must swallow the whole thing. I am your obedient +servant.” + + + +CHAPTER IX + +The pitiless sentence pronounced by Mme. de Lorcy grieved M. Moriaz, but +did not discourage him. It was his opinion that, let her say what she +might, precautions were good; that, well though it might be to bear our +misfortunes patiently, there was no law forbidding us to assuage them; +that it was quite permissible to prefer to complete follies those of a +modified character, and that a bad cold or an influenza was decidedly +preferable to inflammation of the lungs, which is so apt to prove fatal. +“Time and myself will suffice for all things,” proudly said Philip II. +M. Moriaz said, with perhaps less pride: “To postpone a thing so long as +possible, and to hold deliberate counsel with one’s notary, are the +best correctives of a dangerous marriage that cannot be prevented.” His +notary, M. Noirot, in whom he reposed entire confidence, was absent; +a case of importance had carried him to Italy. Nothing remained but to +await his return, until which everything stood in suspense. + +In the first conversation he had with his daughter on the subject, M. +Moriaz found her very reasonable, very well disposed to enter into his +views, to accede to his desires. She was too thoroughly pleased with +his resignation not to be willing to reward him for it with a little +complaisancy; besides, she was too happy to be impatient; she had gained +the main points of her case--it cost her little to yield in matters of +secondary detail. + +“You will be accused of having taken a most inconsiderate step,” said +her father to her. “You are little sensible to the judgment of the +world, to what people say; I am much more so. Humour my weakness or +cowardice. Let us endeavour to keep up appearances; do not let us appear +to be in a hurry, or to have something to hide; let us act with due +deliberation. Just at present no one is in Paris; let us give our +friends time to return there. We will present Count Larinski to them. +Great happiness does not fear being discussed. Your choice will be +regarded unfavourably by some, approved by others. M. Larinski has +the gift of pleasing; he will please, and all the world will pardon my +resignation, which Mme. de Lorcy esteems a crime.” + +“You promised me that your resignation would be mingled with +cheerfulness: I find it somewhat melancholy.” + +“You scarcely could expect me to be intoxicated with joy.” + +“Will you at least assure me that you have taken your part bravely, and +that you will think of no further appeal?” + +“I swear it to you!” + +“Very good; then we will honour your weakness,” she replied, and she +said Amen to all that he proposed. + +It was agreed that the marriage should take place during the winter, +and that two months should be allowed to elapse before proceeding to +the preliminary formalities. M. Moriaz undertook to explain matters to +Samuel Brohl, who found the arrangement little to his taste. He took +pains, however, to give no signs of this. He told M. Moriaz that he was +still in the first bewildering surprise of his happiness, that he was +not sorry to have time to recover from it; but he secretly promised +himself to devise some artifice for abridging delays, for hastening the +_denoument_. He was apprehensive of accidents, unforeseen occurrences, +squalls, storms, tornadoes, sudden blights, in short everything that +might damage or destroy a harvest; he impatiently longed to gather in +his, and to have it carefully stowed away in his granary. In the interim +he wrote to his old friend M. Guldenthal a letter at once majestic +and confidential, which produced a most striking effect. M. Guldenthal +concluded that a good marriage was much better security than a poor +gun. Besides, he had had the agreeable surprise of being completely +reimbursed for his loan, capital and interest. He was charmed to have so +excellent a debtor return to him, and he hastened to advance to him all +that he could possibly want, even more. + +A month passed peaceably by, during which time Samuel Brohl repaired two +or three times each week to Cormeilles. He made himself adored by the +entire household, including the gardener, the porter and his family, +and the Angora cat that had welcomed him at the time of his first visit. +This pretty, soft white puss had conceived for Samuel Brohl a most +deplorable sympathy; perhaps she had recognised that he possessed the +soul of a cat, together with all the feline graces. She lavished on him +the most flattering attentions; she loved to rub coaxingly against him, +to spring on his knee, to repose in his lap. In retaliation, the great, +tawny spaniel belonging to Mlle. Moriaz treated the newcomer with the +utmost severity and was continually looking askance at him; when Samuel +attempted a caress, he would growl ominously and show his teeth, which +called forth numerous stern corrections from his mistress. Dogs are born +gendarmes or police agents; they have marvellous powers of divination +and instinctive hatred of people whose social status is not orthodox, +whose credentials are irregular, or who have borrowed the credentials +of others. As to Mlle. Moiseney, who had not the scent of a spaniel, +she had gone distracted over this noble, this heroic, this incomparable +Count Larinski. In a _tete-a-tete_ he had contrived to have with her, he +had evinced much respect for her character, so much admiration for her +natural and acquired enlightenment, that she had been moved to tears; +for the first time she felt herself understood. What moved her, however, +still more was that he asked her as a favour never to quit Mlle. Moriaz +and to consider as her own the house he hoped one day to possess. “What +a man!” she ejaculated, with as much conviction as Mlle. Galet. + +The principal study of Samuel Brohl was to insinuate himself into the +good graces of M. Moriaz, whose mental reservations he dreaded. He +succeeded in some measure, or at least he disarmed any lingering +suspicions by the irreproachable adjustment of his manners, by the +reserve of his language, by his great show of lack of curiosity +regarding all questions that might have a proximate or remote connection +with his interests. How, then, had Mme. de Lorcy come to take it into +her head that there was something of the appraiser about Samuel +Brohl, and that his eyes took an inventory of her furniture? If he had +forgotten himself at Maisons, he never forgot himself at Cormeilles. +What cared he for the sordid affairs of the sublunary sphere? He floated +in ether; heaven had opened to him its portals; the blessed are too +absorbed in their ecstasy to pay heed to details or to take an inventory +of paradise. Nevertheless, Samuel’s ecstasies did not prevent him from +embracing every opportunity to render himself useful or agreeable to +M. Moriaz. He frequently asked permission to accompany him into his +laboratory. M. Moriaz flattered himself that he had discovered a new +body to which he attributed most curious properties. Since his return he +had been occupied with some very delicate experiments, which he did not +always carry out to his satisfaction; his movements were brusque, his +hands all thumbs; very often he chanced to ruin everything by breaking +his vessels. Samuel proposed to assist him in a manipulation requiring +considerable dexterity; he had very flexible fingers, was as expert as a +juggler, and the manipulation succeeded beyond all hopes. + +Mme. de Lorcy was furious at having been outwitted by Count Larinski; +she retracted all the concessions she had made concerning him; her +rancour had decided that the man of fainting-fits could not be other +than an imposter. She had disputes on this subject with M. Langis, who +persisted in maintaining that M. Larinski was a great comedian, but that +this, strictly considered, did not prevent his being a true count; in +the course of his travels he had met specimens of them who cheated at +cards and pocketed affronts. Mme. de Lorcy, in return, accused him +of being a simpleton. She had written again to Vienna, in hopes of +obtaining some further intelligence; she had been able to learn nothing +satisfactory. She did not lose courage; she well knew that, in the +important affairs of life, M. Moriaz found it difficult to dispense with +her approbation, and she promised herself to choose with discretion the +moment to make a decisive assault upon him. In the meanwhile she gave +herself the pleasure of tormenting him by her silence, and of grieving +him by her long-continued pouting. One day M. Moriaz said to his +daughter: + +“Mme. de Lorcy is displeased with us; this grieves me. I fear you have +dropped some word that has wounded her. I shall be greatly obliged to +you if you will go and see her and coax her into good-humour.” + +“You gave me a far from agreeable commission,” she rejoined, “but I can +refuse you nothing; I shall go to-morrow to Maisons.” + +At the precise moment when this conversation was taking place, Mme. +de Lorcy, who was passing the day in Paris, entered the Ecole des +Beaux-Arts. The exhibition of the work of a celebrated painter, recently +deceased, had attracted thither a great throng of people. Mme. de Lorcy +moved to and fro, when suddenly she descried a little old woman, sixty +years of age, with a snub nose, whose little gray eyes gleamed with +malice and impertinence. Her chin in the air, holding up her eye-glasses +with her hand, she scrutinized all the pictures with a critical, +disdainful air. + +“Ah! truly it is the Princess Gulof,” said Mme. de Lorcy to herself, +and turned away to avoid an encounter. It was at Ostend, three years +previous, during the season of the baths, that she had made the +acquaintance of the princess; she did not care to renew it. This +haughty, capricious Russian, with whom a chance occurrence at the _table +d’hote_ had thrown her into intercourse, had not taken a place among her +pleasantest reminiscences. + +Princess Gulof was the wife of a governor-general whom she had wedded in +second marriage after a long widowhood. He did not see her often, two or +three times a year, that was all. Floating about from one end of Europe +to another, they kept up a regular exchange of letters; the prince never +took any step without consulting his wife, who usually gave him sound +advice. During the first years of their marriage, he had committed the +error of being seriously in love with her: there are some species of +ugliness that inspire actually insane passions. The princess found this +in the most wretched taste, and soon brought Dimitri Paulovitch to his +senses. From that moment perfect concord reigned between this wedded +couple, who were parted by the entire continent of Europe, united by the +mail-bags. The princess did not bear a very irreproachable record. She +looked upon morality as pure matter of conventionality, and she made no +secret of her thoughts. She was always on the alert for new discoveries, +fresh experiences; she never waited to read a book to the end before +flinging it into the waste-paper basket, most frequently the first +chapter sufficed; she had met with many disappointments, she had wearied +of many caprices, and she had arrived at the conclusion that man is, +after all, of but small account. Nevertheless, there had come to her +late in life a comparatively lasting caprice; during nearly five years +she had flattered herself that she had found what she sought. Alas! for +the first time she had been abandoned, forsaken, and that before she had +herself grown tired of her fancy. This desertion had inflicted a sharp +wound on her pride; she had conceived an implacable hatred for the +faithless one, and then she had forgotten him. She had plunged into +the natural sciences, she had made dissections--it was her way of being +avenged. She held very advanced ideas; she believed in the most radical +of the doctrines of evolution; she deemed it a clearly demonstrated fact +that man is a development of the monkey, the monkey of the monad. She +profoundly despised any one who permitted himself to doubt this. She did +not count melancholy; to analyze or dissect everything, that was her way +of being happy. + +During their common sojourn at Ostend, Mme. de Lorcy had gained the good +graces of the Princess Gulof through the dexterity with which she had +dressed the wounds of Moufflard, her lapdog, whose paw had been injured +by some awkward individual. She had been quite pleased with Mme. de +Lorcy, her sympathy and her kindly services, and she had bestowed her +most amiable attentions upon her. Mme. de Lorcy had done her best to +respond to her advances; but she found herself revolted by this old +magpie whose prattling never ceased, and whose chief delight was in the +recital of the secret chronicles of every capital of Europe; Mme. de +Lorcy, in fact, soon grew disgusted with her cosmopolitan gossip and her +physiology; she found her cynical and evil-minded. In meeting her at the +Ecole des Beaux-Arts, her first impulse was to evade her; but suddenly +she changed her mind. For some weeks past she had been governed by a +fixed idea, about which all else revolved; an inspiration came over her, +which doubtless fell directly from the skies. + +“Princess Gulof,” said she to herself, “has passed her life in running +around the world; her real home is a railroad-car; there is not a large +city where she has failed to make a sojourn; she is acquainted with the +whole world: is it not possible that she knows Count Larinski?” + +Mme. de Lorcy retraced her steps, cut her way through the crowd, +succeeded in approaching the princess, and, taking her by the arm, +exclaimed: “Ah! is it you, princess! How is Moufflard?” + +The princess turned her head, regarded her fixedly a moment, and then +pressing her hand between her thumb and forefinger she rejoined with as +little ceremony as though they had met the day before: “Moufflard does +very poorly indeed, my dear. He died two months ago of indigestion.” + +“How you must have mourned his loss!” + +“I am still inconsolable.” + +“Ah! well, princess, I shall undertake to console you. I own a lapdog, +not yet six months old: you never saw a more charming one or one with a +shorter nose or whiter and more delicate hair. I am a great utilitarian, +as you know. I only care for large dogs that are of some use. Will you +accept of me Moufflard II? But you must come and fetch him yourself, +which will procure me the pleasure of seeing you at Maisons.” + +The princess replied that she was on her way to England; that she was +merely taking Paris in passing; that her hours were numbered; and two +minutes later she announced to Mme. de Lorcy that she would call on her +the following day, in the afternoon. + +True to her appointment, Princess Gulof entered Mme. de Lorcy’s _salon_ +the following day. The ladies occupied themselves first of all with +the lapdog, which was found charming and quite worthy to succeed +to Moufflard I. Mme. de Lorcy watched all the time for a suitable +opportunity of introducing the subject nearest to her heart; when she +thought it had come, she observed: + +“Apropos, princess, you who know everything, you who are a true +cosmopolitan, have you ever heard of a mysterious personage who calls +himself Count Abel Larinski?” + +“Not that I am aware of, my dear, although his name may not be +absolutely unknown to me.” + +“Search among your reminiscences; you must have encountered him +somewhere; you have visited all the countries of the world--” + +“Of the habitable world,” she interposed; “but according to my especial +point of view Siberia scarcely can be called so, and it is there, if I +mistake not, that your Count Larinski must have been sent.” + +“Would to heaven!--Perhaps there was question of procuring this little +pleasure for his father; but, unfortunately, he took the precaution to +emigrate to America. The inconvenience of America is, that people can +return from there, for my Larinski has returned, and it is that that +grieves me.” + +“What has he done to you?” inquired the princess pinching the ears of +the dog who was slumbering in her lap. + +“I spoke to you at Ostend about my goddaughter Mlle. Moriaz, who is an +adorable creature. I proposed to marry her to my nephew, M. Langis, a +most highly accomplished young man. This Larinski came suddenly on the +scene, he cast a charm over the child, and he will marry her.” + +“What a pity! Is he handsome?” + +“Yes; that, to tell the truth, is his sole merit.” + +“It is merit sufficient,” replied the princess, whose gray eyes twinkled +as she spoke. “There is nothing certain but a man’s beauty; all else is +open to discussion.” + +“Pray, allow me to consider matters from a more matter-of-fact point of +view,” said Mme. de Lorcy. “Also I may as well confide to you my whole +perplexity: I suspect Count Larinski of being neither a true Larinski +nor a true count; I would stake my life that the Larinskis are all dead, +and that this man is some adventurer.” + +“You will end by interesting me,” rejoined the princess. “Do not speak +too severely of adventurers, however; they are one of the most curious +varieties of the human family. Let your goddaughter marry hers; it will +bring a piquant element into her life; the poor world is so generally a +prey to ennui.” + +“Thank you! my goddaughter was not born to marry an adventurer. I detest +this Larinski, and I have vowed that I will play him some abominable +trick!” + +“Do not become excited, my dear. What colour are his eyes?” + +“Green as those of the cats or of the owls.” + +Once more the eyes of Princess Gulof flashed and twinkled, and she +cried: “An adventurer with green eyes! Why, it is a superb match, and I +find you hard to please.” + +“You grieve me, princess,” said Mme. de Lorcy. “I had promised +myself that you would lend me the assistance of your judgment, your +incomparable penetration, your experienced eye; that you would aid me +in unmasking this Pole, in detecting in him some irremediable vice that +would at once prove an insurmountable obstacle to the marriage. Be good, +for once in your life; may I present him to you?” + +“I repeat to you that I am merely taking Paris in passing,” replied the +princess, “and I am expected in England. Besides, you do too much honour +to my incomparable penetration. I swear to you that I am no connoisseur +in Larinskis; you may as well spare yourself the pains of presenting +to me yours. I am a good-natured woman, who has often been made a good +dupe, and I do not complain of it. The best reminiscences of my past +are of sundry agreeable errors, and of men skilled in deception. I have +found it the wisest way to judge by the labels, and never to ask any +one to show me the contents of his sack, for I long ago discovered that +sacks are very apt to be empty or at best only poorly filled. Let your +goddaughter act according to her own head; if she deceives herself, it +is because she wishes to be deceived, and she knows better than you what +suits her. _Eh! bon Dieu_, what matters it if there be one more unhappy +household under the broad canopy of heaven? Besides, it is only fools +who are unhappy, and who stupidly pause before a closed portal; others +manage in some way to find a loop-hole of escape. Marriage, my dear, is +an institution worn threadbare. Ten years hence there will be only free +women and husbands on trial. Ten years hence the Countess Larinski will +be a liberated countess. Let her serve her time as a galley-slave, and +she will come out entirely cured of her follies.” + +Just as Princess Gulof was finishing this remarkable declaration of her +principles, the door opened and Mlle. Moriaz entered. Whatever it might +cost her to do so, the future Countess Larinski faithfully kept the +promise she had made to her father. Mme. de Lorcy was strictly on her +guard; she hastened to meet her, held out both hands, kissed her on both +cheeks, and reproached her, in the most affectionate tone in the world, +for the rarity of her visits. Then she presented her to the princess, +who said: “Come here, my beauty, that I may look at you; I have been +told that you are adorable.” + +When Antoinette approached, she fixed on her a keen, penetrating glance, +examined her from head to foot, passed all her perfections in review: +one might have taken her for some Normandy farmer at a cattle-fair. +The result of this investigation was satisfactory; the princess cried, +“Truly she does very well!” and proceeded to assert that Mlle. Moriaz +greatly resembled a certain person who had played a certain role in +a certain adventure that she undertook to narrate. She had scarcely +finished this recital when she entered on another. Mme. de Lorcy was on +thorns. She knew by experience that the anecdotes of Princess Gulof +were ordinarily somewhat indelicate and ill-suited to maiden ears. +She watched Antoinette anxiously, and, when she saw the approach of an +especially objectionable passage, she was suddenly seized with a fit of +coughing. The princess, comprehending the significance of that, made an +effort to gloss over, but her glossings were very transparent. Mme. +de Lorcy coughed anew, and the princess ended by losing patience, and, +brusquely interrupting herself, exclaimed: “And this, that, and the +other, etc. Thus ended the adventure.” + +Mlle. Moriaz listened with an astonished air, not in the least +understanding these attacks of coughing and these interruptions, nor +divining the significance of the constant repetition of “this, that, +and the other, etc.” Princess Gulof struck her as a very eccentric and +unpleasantly brusque person; she even suspected her of being slightly +deranged or at least rather crack-brained; yet she was pleased with +her for being present upon this especial occasion and sparing her a +_tete-a-tete_ with Mme. de Lorcy with its disagreeable explanations and +unpleasant discussions. + +She remained nearly an hour, planted on a chair, watching with a sort of +stupor the turning of the fan of this word-mill, whose clapper kept up +such an incessant noise. After having criticised to her heart’s content +her neighbours, including under that title emperors and grand-dukes, +and having abundantly multiplied the et ceteras, Princess Gulof suddenly +turned the conversation to physiology: this science, whose depths she +believed herself to have fathomed, was, in her estimation, the secret +of everything, the Alpha and Omega of human life. She exposed certain +materialistic views, making use of expressions that shocked the modest +and delicate ears of Mlle. Moriaz. The astonishment the latter had at +first experienced became now blended with horror and disgust; she judged +that her visit had lasted long enough, and she proceeded to beat a +retreat, which Mme. de Lorcy made no effort to prevent. + +Upon arriving at Cormeilles, her carriage crossed with a young man on +horseback, who with his head bowed down allowed his animal full liberty +to take his own course. This young man trembled when a clear, soprano +voice, which he preferred to the most beautiful music in the world, +cried to him, “Where are you going, Camille?” + +He bowed over his horse’s neck, drew down his hat over his eyes, and +replied, “To Maisons.” + +“Do not go there. I have just left because there is a dreadful old woman +there who says horrid things.” Then Mlle. Moriaz added, in a queenly +tone, “You cannot pass--you are my prisoner.” + +She obliged him to turn back; ten minutes later she had alighted from +her coupe, he had sprung from his saddle, and they were seated side by +side on a rustic bench. + +A few days previous M. Langis had met M. Moriaz, who had complained +bitterly of being forsaken by him as well as by Mme. de Lorcy, and who +had extracted from him the promise to come and see him. Camille had kept +this promise. Had he chosen well his time of doing so? The truth is, he +had been both rejoiced and heart-broken to learn that Mlle. Moriaz was +absent. Man is a strange combination of contradictions, especially a +man who is in love. In the same way he had bestowed both blessings and +imprecations upon Heaven for permitting him to meet Antoinette. During +some moments he had lost countenance, but had quickly recovered himself; +he had formed the generous resolution to act out consistently his role +of friend and brother. He had acquitted himself of it so well at Saint +Moritz, that Antoinette believed him cured of the caprice of a day with +which she had inspired him and which she had never taken seriously. + +“The last time I saw you,” said she, “you dropped a remark that pained +me, but I am pleased to think that you did not mean to do so.” + +“I am a terrible culprit,” he rejoined, “and I smite myself upon the +breast therefore. I was wanting in respect to your idol.” + +“Fortunately, my idol knew nothing about it, and, if he had known, I +would have appeased him by saying: ‘Pardon this young man; he does not +always know what he is saying.’” + +“He even seldom knows it; but what help is there for it? A man given to +fainting always did seem a curiosity to me. I know we should endeavour +to conquer our prejudices; every country has its customs, and, since +Poland is a country that pleases you, I will make an effort to see only +its good sides.” + +“Now that is the right way to talk. I hope this very day to reconcile +you with Count Larinski; stay and dine with us--he will be here very +soon; the first duty of the people whom I love is to love one another.” + +M. Langis at first energetically declined accepting this invitation; +Antoinette insisted: he ended by bowing in sign of obedience. Youth has +a taste for suffering. + +Tracing figures in the gravel with a stick he had picked up, M. Langis +said, in a wholly unconstrained voice: “I do not wish M. Larinski any +harm, and yet you must admit that I would have the right to detest him +cordially, for I had the honour two years ago, if I mistake not, of +asking your hand in marriage. Do you remember it?” + +“Perfectly,” she replied, fixing upon him her pure, clear eyes; “but I +ought to avow to you that this fancy of yours never seemed to me either +very reasonable or very serious.” + +“You are wrong; I can certify to you that your refusal plunged me for +as much as forty-eight hours into the depths of despair--I mean one +of those genuine despairs that neither eat, drink, nor sleep, and that +speak openly of suicide!” + +“And at the end of forty-eight hours were you consoled?” + +“_Eh! bon Dieu_, it surely was time to come to reason. I had hesitated +a long time before asking your hand, because I thought, ‘If she refuses +me, I cannot see her any more.’ But I still do see you, so all is well!” + +“And how soon do you mean to marry?” + +“I? Never! I shall die a bachelor. An aspirant to the hand of Mlle. +Moriaz, being unable to win her, could not care for another woman. +Nothing remains but to strike the attitude of the inconsolable lover.” + +“And when this ceases to hinder one from eating, drinking, or +sleeping--what then?” + +“One becomes interesting without being inconvenienced by the +consequences,” he gaily interposed. Then, letting his eyes wander idly +around for a moment, he added: “It seems to me that you have in some +way changed the order of this terrace; put to the right what was at the +left, thinned out the shrubbery, cut the trees; I feel completely lost +here.” + +“You mistake greatly; nothing is changed here; it is you who have become +forgetful. How! you now longer recognise this terrace, scene of so many +exploits? I was a thorough tyrant; I did with you what I pleased. You +revolted sometimes, but in his heart the slave adored his chains. Open +your eyes. See! here is the sycamore you climbed one day to escape me +when I wanted you to make believe that you were a girl, as you said, and +you had little fancy for such a silly role. There is the alley where +we played ball, and yonder the hedge and the grove where we played +hide-and-seek.” + +“Say rather, _cligne-musette_; it is more poetical,” he rejoined. “When +I was down in Transylvania I made a _chanson_ about it all, and set it +myself to music.” + +“Sing me your _chanson_.” + +“You are mocking at me; my voice is false, as you well know; but I will +consent to recite it to you. The rhymes are not rich--I am no son of +Parnassus.” + +With these words, lowering his voice, not daring to look her in the +face, he recited the couplets. + +“Your _chanson_ is very pretty,” said she; “but it does not tell the +truth, for here we are sitting together on this bench; we have not lost +each other at all.” + +She was so innocent that she had no idea of the torture she was +inflicting, and he saw this so plainly that he could not so much as have +the satisfaction of finding fault with her; yet he asked himself whether +in the best woman’s heart there was not a foundation of cruelty, of +unconscious ferocity. He felt the tears start to his eyes; he scarcely +could restrain them; he abruptly bowed his head, and began to examine +a beautiful horned beetle, which was just crossing the gravel-path at a +quick pace, apparently having some very important affairs to regulate. +When M. Langis raised his head his eyes were dry, his face serene, his +lips smiling. + +“It is very certain,” he observed, “that two years ago I must have +appeared supremely ridiculous to you. This little playmate of old, this +foolish little Camille, to attempt to transform himself into a husband! +The pretension was absurd indeed.” + +“Not at all,” she replied; “but I thought at once that it was a mistake. +Little Camilles are apt to be hot-headed and fanciful; they are subject +to self-deceptions regarding their sentiments. Friendship and love, +however, are two entirely different things! I once said to Mlle. +Moiseney that a woman never should marry an intimate friend, because +it would be a sure way of losing him as such, and friends are good to +keep.” + +“Bah! How much do you care now for yours? I find my role very modest, +very insignificant. Open the trap-door--it is time for me to disappear.” + +“Bad counsel! I shall not open the trap-door. One always has need of +friends. I can readily imagine the possibility of the very happiest +married woman needing some advice or assistance that she could not ask +of her husband, for husbands do not understand everything. If ever such +a thing happens to me, Camille, I shall turn to you.” + +“Agreed!” he cried; “to help you out of embarrassment, I would run, if +necessary, all the way from Transylvania.” + +He held out his right hand, which she shook warmly. + +At this moment they heard a step that Mlle. Moriaz at once recognised, +and Count Larinski appeared from the walk bordering the house. +Antoinette hastened to meet him, and led him forward by laying hold of +the tip of his glove, which he was in the act of drawing off. + +“Gentlemen,” said she, “I do not need to present you to each other; you +are already acquainted.” + +It is a very difficult thing to lead two men who do not like each +other into conversation: the present effort proved a total failure. +Fortunately for all parties, M. Moriaz shortly made his appearance at +the end of the terrace, and M. Langis arose to join him. Antoinette +remained alone with Samuel Brohl, who at once rather brusquely asked: + +“Has M. Langis the intention of remaining here forever?” + +“He has only just arrived,” she replied. + +“And you will send him away soon?” + +“I thought so little of sending him away that I asked him to dinner, in +order to give you an opportunity of becoming more fully acquainted with +him.” + +“I thank you for your amiable intentions, but M. Langis pleases me +little.” + +“What have you against him?” + +“I have met him sometimes at Mme. de Lorcy’s, and he always has shown me +a most dubious politeness. I scent in him an enemy.” + +“Pure imagination! M. Langis has been my friend from childhood up, and I +have forewarned him that it is his duty to love the people whom I love.” + +“I mistrust these childhood’s friends,” said he, growing excited. “I +should not wonder if this youth was in love with you.” + +“Ah, indeed! then you should have heard him but now. He has been +reminding me, this youth, that two years ago he sought my hand, and +he assured me that forty-eight hours sufficed to console him for my +refusal.” + +“I did not know that the case was so grave, or the personage so +dangerous. Truly, do you mean to keep him to dinner?” + +“I invited him; can I retract?” + +“Very well, I will leave the place,” he cried, rising. + +She uplifted her eyes to his face and remained transfixed with +astonishment, so completely was his face transformed. His contracted +brows formed an acute angle, and he had a sharp, hard, evil air. This +was a Larinski with whom she was not yet acquainted, or rather it was +Samuel Brohl who had just appeared to her--Samuel Brohl, who had +entered upon the scene as suddenly as though he had emerged from a magic +surprise-box. She could not remove her eyes from him, and he at once +perceived the impression he was making on her. Forthwith Samuel Brohl +re-entered his box, whose cover closed over him, and it was a true Pole +who said to Mlle. Moriaz, in a grave, melancholy, and respectful tone: + +“Pardon me, I am not always master of my impressions.” + +“That is right,” said she; “and you will remain, won’t you?” + +“Impossible,” he replied; “I should be cross, and you would not be +pleased.” + +She urged him; he opposed her entreaties with a polite but firm +resistance. + +“Adieu,” said she. “When shall I see you again?” + +“To-morrow--or the day after--I do not know.” + +“Really, do you not know?” + +He perceived that her eyes were full of tears. Tenderly kissing her hand +he said, with a smile that consoled her: + +“This is the first time we have had any dispute; it is possible that +I may be wrong, but it seems to me that if I were a woman I would not +willingly marry a man who was always right.” + +These words uttered, he assured himself anew that her eyes were humid, +and then he left, charmed to have proved the extent of the empire he +held over her. + +When she rejoined M. Langis, the young man asked: + +“Does it chance to be I who put Count Larinski to flight? If so, I +should be quite heart-broken.” + +“Reassure yourself,” said she, “he came expressly to inform me that his +evening was not free.” + +The dinner was only passably lively. Mlle. Moiseney owed M. Langis a +grudge; she could not forgive him for having made fun of her more than +once--in her eyes an unpardonable sin. M. Moriaz was enchanted to find +himself once more in company with his dear Camille; but he kept asking +himself, mournfully, “Why is not he to be my son-in-law?” Antoinette +had several attacks of abstraction; she did not, however, omit the least +friendly attention to Camille. Love had become master of this generous +soul; it might cause it to commit many imprudences, but it was not in +its power to cause it to commit an injustice. + +At nine o’clock M. Langis mounted his horse and took his departure. + +Meanwhile, Mlle. Moriaz, her arm resting on the ledge of her window, was +meditating on the strange conduct of Count Larinski as she gazed on the +stars; the sky was without clouds, unless a little black speck above +Mount-Valerien might be so called. Mlle. Moriaz’s heart swelled with +emotion, and she felt implicit confidence that all would be arranged the +next day. What is one black spot in the immensity of a starry sky? + + + +CHAPTER X + +In all that Samuel Brohl did, even in his wildest freaks, there +was somewhat of calculation, or contrivance. Unquestionably, he had +experienced intense displeasure at encountering M. Camille Langis at +Cormeilles; he had, doubtless, very particular and very personal +reasons for not liking him. He knew, however, that there was need for +controlling his temper, his impressions, his rancour; and, if he ceased +to do so for a moment, it was because he counted upon deriving advantage +therefrom. He was impatient to enter into possession, to feel his +good-fortune sheltered from all hazards; delays, procrastinations, +long waiting, displeased and irritated him. He suspected M. Moriaz of +purposely putting his shoulder to the wheel of time, and of preparing +a contract that would completely tie the hands of Count Larinski. +He resolved to seize the first opportunity of proving that he was +mistrustful, stormy, susceptible, in the hope that Mlle. Moriaz would +become alarmed and say to her father, “I intend to marry in three weeks, +and without any conditions.” The opportunity had presented itself, and +Samuel Brohl had taken good care not to lose it. + +The next day he received the following note: + +“You have caused me pain, a great deal of pain. Already! I passed a +sorrowful evening, and slept wretchedly all night. I have reflected +seriously upon our dispute; I have endeavoured to persuade myself that I +was in the wrong: I have neither been able to succeed, nor to comprehend +you. Ah! how your lack of confidence astonishes me! It is so easy to +believe when one loves. Please write me word quickly that you also have +reflected, and that you have acknowledged your misdemeanour. I will not +insist upon your doing penance, your face humbled to the ground; but I +will condemn you to love me to-day more than yesterday, to-morrow more +than to-day. Upon these conditions, I will pass a sponge across your +grave error, and we shall speak of it no more. + +“Ever yours. It is agreed, is it not?” Samuel Brohl had the surprise of +receiving at the same time another letter, thus worded: + +“MY DEAR COUNT: I cannot explain to myself your conduct; you no longer +give me any signs of life. I believed that I had some claims upon you, +and that you would hasten to announce to me in person the great event of +events, and seek my congratulations. Come, I beg of you, and dine this +evening at Maisons with Abbe Miollens, who is dying to embrace you; he +studies men in Horace, you know, and he finds none whom he prefers to +you. + +“You need not answer, but come; else I will be displeased with you as +long as I live.” + +Samuel replied as follows to Mlle. Moriaz: + +“Be assured I have suffered more than you. Forgive me; much should be +forgiven a man who has suffered much. My imagination is subject to the +wildest alarms. Great, unlooked-for joy has rendered me mistrustful. +I have been especially low-spirited of late. After having resolutely +fought against my happiness, I tremble now lest it escape me; it appears +to me too beautiful not to prove only a dream. To be loved by you! How +can I help fearing to lose the great boon? Each evening I ask myself: +‘Will she still love me to-morrow?’ Perhaps my anxiety is blended with +secret remorse. My pride, ever on the alert to take umbrage, has often +been my torment; you can tell me it is only self-love: I will endeavour +to cure myself of it, but this cannot be done in a day. During these +long months of waiting there will come to me more than one suspicion, +more than one troubled thought. I promise you, however, that I shall +maintain a rigid silence concerning them, and, if possible, hide them. + +“You condemn me, for my punishment, to love you to-day more than +yesterday; you know well this were impossible. No; I shall inflict upon +myself another chastisement. Mme. de Lorcy has invited me to dinner. I +suspect her of having a very mediocre feeling of good-will for me, and +I also accuse her of being cold and insensible; of understanding +nothing whatever of the heart’s unreasonableness, which is true wisdom. +Nevertheless, I will refrain from declining her invitation. It is at +Maisons and not at Cormeilles that I shall this day pass my evening. Are +you content with me? Is not the penance severe enough? + +“But to-morrow--oh! I shall arrive at your home to-morrow by two +o’clock, and I shall enter by the little green gate at the foot of the +orchard. Will you do me a favour? Promenade about two o’clock in the +gravel-walk that I adore. The wall being low at that place, I +shall perceive from afar, before entering, the white silk of your +sun-umbrella. I am counting, you see, upon sunshine. How very childish! +Yet, even this is not strange; I was born three months and a half ago; +I commenced to live July 5th of this year; at four o’clock in the +afternoon, in the cathedral at Chur. Forgive me all my errors, my +suspicions, my childish absurdities.” + +Mlle. Moriaz concluded that it would be well to shorten the term of +waiting, and that she would ask Count Larinski to fix the date of their +marriage himself. As to the contract, she had immediate occasion to +speak of it to her father, who announced to her that he had invited his +notary, Maitre Noirot, to dine with him the next day. + +She was silent a few moments, and then said, “Can you explain to me the +use of notaries?” + +He replied about as did _le Philosophe sans le savoir_: “We only see the +present; notaries foresee the future and possible contingencies.” + +She replied that she did not believe in contingencies, and that she +did not like precautions, because they presupposed distrust, and might +appear offensive. + +“We have charming weather to-day,” said her father; “nevertheless there +is a possibility of rain to-morrow. If I started this evening on +a journey, I should carry my umbrella, without fearing to insult +Providence. Who speaks to you of offending M. Larinski? Not content with +approving of the step I propose taking, he will thank me for it. Why did +he at first refuse to marry you? Because you are rich, and he is poor. +The contract I wish to have drawn up will thoroughly set at ease his +disinterestedness and his pride.” + +“The question of money no longer exists for him,” she eagerly replied; +“it is my desire that it should not be started again. And since you like +comparisons, let us suppose that you invited one of your friends to take +a turn in your garden. Your espaliers are laden with fruit, and you know +that your friend is an honest man, and that, besides, he does not care +for pears. Suppose you were to put handcuffs on him, would he or would +he not be insulted?” + +He answered in an exceedingly vexed tone, that this was entirely +different, and Mlle. Moiseney having taken the liberty to interfere in +the discussion in Antoinette’s behalf, declaring that Counts Larinski +are not to be distrusted, and that men of science are incapable of +comprehending delicacy of sentiment, he gave full vent to his wrath, +telling the worthy demoiselle to meddle with what concerned her. For the +first time in his life he was seriously angry. Antoinette caressed him +into good-humour, promised that she would put on the best possible +face to Maitre Noirot, that she would pay religious attention to his +counsels, and that she would endeavour to profit by them. + +While M. Moriaz was engaged in this stormy interview with his daughter, +Samuel Brohl was _en route_ for Maisons. After the first flush of +astonishment, the note and invitation of Mme. de Lorcy had pleased +him immensely; he saw in it the proof that she had ceased to struggle +against the inevitable--against Samuel Brohl and destiny; that she had +resolved to bear her disappointment with a cheerful countenance. He +formed the generous resolution to console her for her vexation; to gain +her good-will by force of modesty and graceful attentions. + +Alone in his compartment of the cars, Samuel Brohl was happy, perfectly +happy. He was nearing port; he held it for an established fact that, +before a fortnight, the banns would be published. Was he alone in +his compartment? An adored image kept him company; he spoke to it, it +replied to him. Blended with a rather uncommon frigidity of soul, +Samuel Brohl had an imagination that readily took fire, and, when his +imagination was kindled, he felt within him something warm, which he +took for a heart, and sincerely persuaded himself that he had such an +organ. At this moment he saw Antoinette as he had left her the evening +previous, her face animated, her cheeks flushed, her countenance full of +reproach, her eyes tearful. She never had appeared to him so charming. +He believed himself so madly in love that he was inclined to mock a +little at himself. He teased in anticipation the joys that were in +reserve for him; he revelled in thought of the day and the hour when +this superb creature would be his, when he could view her as his +own undisputed possession, and devour page after page, chapter after +chapter, of this elegantly printed, richly bound book. + +However, he was not the man to wholly absorb himself in such a reverie. +His thoughts travelled farther; in idea he embraced his entire future, +which he fashioned out at pleasure. He took leave of his sorrowful past +as a blind man who by some miracle recovers his sight, parts from his +dog and his staff--troublesome witnesses of evil days. He had done with +petty employments, with ungrateful toil, with humiliating servitude, +with anxiety about the morrow, with the necessity for counting every +sou, with meagre repasts, with sordid expedients, with sorrow, distress, +and usuries; to all these he said farewell. Henceforth he would pick up +silver and gold by the shovelful; he would have a share in abundance of +festivals--the joy of doing nothing--the pleasure of commanding--all the +sweetness and all the calm satisfaction of delightful egotism--reposing +in a bed of eider-down--fed upon delicate birds--owning two or three +houses, a carriage, horses, and a box at the opera. What a future! +At intervals Samuel Brohl passed his tongue over his lips; they were +parched with thirst. + +Alnaschar the Lazy received one hundred drachms of silver as his entire +patrimony, and he promised himself that he would one day marry the +daughter of the grand-vizier. He meant to clothe himself like a prince, +to mount upon a horse with a saddle of fine gold and housings of gold, +richly embroidered with diamonds and pearls. He proposed to see that +his wife formed good habits, to train her to obedience, to teach her to +stand before him and be always ready to wait upon him; he resolved to +discipline her with his looks, his hand, and his foot. Samuel Brohl +possessed a calmer spirit than the Athenian Hippoclide; he was less +brutal than Alnaschar of Bagdad: was he much less ferocious? He +proposed, he also, to educate his wife; he intended that the daughter of +the grand-vizier should consecrate herself wholly to his happiness, to +his service. To possess a beautiful slave, with velvety eyes, chestnut +hair, tinged with gold, who would make of Samuel Brohl her padishah +and her god, who would pass her life at his knees on the alert for his +wishes, reading his good pleasure in his face, attentive to his fancies +and to his eye-brows, belonging to him body and soul, uplifting to him +the gaze of a timid gazelle or a faithful spaniel--such was his dream of +conjugal felicity. And little need would he have to exert himself much +in the education of Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz. Love would charge itself +with that. She adored Samuel Brohl, and he relied upon her devotion; it +were impossible that she could refuse him anything! She was prepared in +advance for every compliance, every obedience; she was ready to be his +humble servant in all things. Knaves make it their boast that they can +readily fathom honest people; the truth is, they only half comprehend +them. Honest people have sentiments, as do certain languages, reputed +easy, which are full of mystery, of refined delicacy, inaccessible to +the vulgar mind. A commercial traveller often learns to speak Italian in +three weeks, and yet never really knows the language; Samuel Brohl had +gained a superficial knowledge of Mlle. Moriaz in a few days, and yet he +was far from having a true comprehension of her. + +He arrived at Maisons in the most cheerful, self-satisfied frame of +mind. As he walked through the park, he remembered that Mme. de Lorcy +had lost her only two children when they were still of a tender age; +that she was therefore free to will her property as she pleased; that +she had a short neck, an apoplectic temperament; that Antoinette was her +goddaughter; that although she was piqued with Count Larinski the count +was adroit, and would find a way to regain her sympathies. The park +appeared to him magnificent; he admired its long, regular alleys, which +had the appearance of extending as far as Peking; he paused some moments +before the purple beech, and it seemed to him that there must be some +resemblance between this beautiful tree and himself. He contemplated +with the eyes of proprietorship the terrace planted with superb lindens, +and he decided that he would establish himself in his Maisons chateau, +that his pretty Cormeilles villa would merely be his country-seat. As +it may be seen, his imagination refused him nothing; it placed happiness +and wealth untold at his command. + +We are unable to state whether Mme. de Lorcy actually had an apoplectic +temperament; the one thing certain is, that she was not dead. Samuel +Brohl perceived her from afar on the veranda, which she had just stepped +out upon in order to watch for his arrival. He had forgotten himself in +the park, which should one day be his park, and she was beginning to be +uneasy about his coming. + +She cried out to him: “At last! You always make us wait for you,” + adding, in a most affable tone, “We meet to-day under less tragic +circumstances than the last time you were here, and I hope you will bear +away a pleasanter remembrance of Maisons.” + +He respectfully kissed her hand, saying: “Happiness must be purchased; I +cannot pay too dearly for mine.” + +She ushered him into the _salon_, where he had scarcely set foot, when +he descried an old woman lounging on a _causeuse_, fanning herself as +she chatted with Abbe Miollens. He remained motionless, his eyes fixed, +scarcely breathing, cold as marble; it seemed to him that the four walls +of the _salon_ swayed from right to left, and left to right, and that +the floor was sliding from under his feet like the deck of a pitching +vessel. + +The previous day, Antoinette once departed, Mme. de Lorcy had resumed +her attack on Princess Gulof, and the princess had ended by consenting +to delay her departure, to dine with the adventurer of the green eyes, +and to subject him to a close scrutiny. There she was; yes, it was +indeed she! The first impulse of Samuel Brohl was to regain the door as +speedily as possible; but he did nothing of the kind. He looked at Mme. +de Lorcy: she herself was regarding him with astonishment; she wondered +what could suddenly have overcome him; she could find no explanation for +the bewilderment apparent in his countenance. “It is a mere chance,” he +thought at last; “she has not intentionally drawn me into a snare.” This +thought was productive of a sort of half relief. + +“_Eh bien!_ what is it?” she asked. “Has my poor _salon_ still the +misfortune to be hurtful to you?” + +He pointed to a _jardiniere_, saying: “You are fond of hyacinths and +tuberoses; their perfume overpowered me for a moment. I fear you think +me very effeminate.” + +She replied in a caressing voice: “I take you for a most worthy man +who has terrible nerves; but you know by experience that if you have +weaknesses I have salts. Will you have my smelling-bottle?” + +“You are a thousand times too good,” he rejoined, and bravely marched +forward to face the danger. It is a well-known fact that dangers in a +silken robe are the most formidable of all. + +Mme. de Lorcy presented him to the princess, who raised her chin to +examine him with her little glittering eyes. It seemed to him that those +gray orbs directed at him were two balls, which struck him in the heart; +he quivered from head to foot and asked himself confusedly whether he +were dead or living. He soon perceived that he was still living; the +princess had remained impassible--not a muscle of her face had moved. +She ended by bestowing upon Samuel a smile that was almost gracious, +and addressing to him some insignificant words, which he only half +understood, but which seemed to him exquisite--delicious. He fancied +that she was saying to him: “You have a chance, you were born lucky; +my sight has been impaired for some years, and I do not recognise you. +Bless your star, you are saved!” He experienced such a transport of joy +that he could have flung his arms about the neck of Abbe Miollens, who +came up to him with extended hand, saying: + +“What have you been thinking about, my dear count? Since we last met a +very great event has been accomplished. What woman wishes, God wishes; +but, after all, my own humble efforts were not without avail, and I am +proud of it.” + +Mme. de Lorcy requested Count Larinski to offer his arm to Princess +Gulof and lead her out to dinner. He mechanically complied; but he had +not the strength to utter a syllable as he conducted the princess to +table. She herself said nothing; she seemed wholly busied in arranging +with her unoccupied hand a lock of her gray hair, which had strayed +too far over her forehead. He looked fixedly at this short, plump hand, +which one day in a fit of jealous fury had administered to him two smart +blows; his cheeks recognised it. + +During dinner the princess was very gay: she paid more attention to Abbe +Miollens than to Count Larinski; she took pleasure in teasing the good +priest--in endeavouring to shock him a little. It was not easy to shock +him; to his natural, easy good-nature he united an innate respect for +grandeurs and for princesses. She did not neglect so good an opportunity +to air her monkey-development theories. He merrily flung back the ball; +he declared that he should prefer to be a fallen angel rather than a +perfected monkey; that in his estimation a parvenu made a much sorrier +figure in the world than the descendent of an old family of ruined +nobility. She replied that she was more democratic than he. “It is +pleasant to me,” said she, “to think that I am a progressive ape, who +has a wide future before him, and who, by taking proper pains, may hope +to attain new advancement.” + +While they were thus chatting, Samuel Brohl was striving with all his +might to recover from the terrible blow he had received. He noted with +keen satisfaction that the eyesight of the princess was considerably +impaired; that the microscopic studies, for which she had always had a +taste, had resulted in rendering her somewhat near-sighted; that she was +obliged to look out carefully to find her way among her wine-glasses. +“She has not seen me for six years,” thought he, “and I have become +a different man, I have undergone a complete metamorphosis; I have +difficulty sometimes in recognising myself. Formerly, my face was +close-shaven, now I have let my entire beard grow. My voice, my accent, +the poise of my head, my manners, the expression of my countenance, all +are changed; Poland has entered my blood--I am Samuel no longer, I am +Larinski.” He blessed the microscope, which enfeebled the sight of old +women; he blessed Count Abel Larinski, who had made of him his +twin brother. Before the end of the repast he had recovered all his +assurance, all his aplomb. He began to take part in the conversation: +he recounted in a sorrowful tone a sorrowful little story; he retailed +sundry playful anecdotes with a melancholy grace and sprightliness; he +expressed the most chivalrous sentiments; shaking his lion’s mane, he +spoke of the prisoner at the Vatican with tears in his voice. It were +impossible to be a more thorough Larinski. + +The princess manifested, in listening to him, an astonished curiosity; +she concluded by saying to him: “Count, I admire you; but I believe only +in physiology, and you are a little too much of a Pole for me.” + +After they had left the table and repaired to the _salon_, several +callers dropped in. It was like a deliverance to Samuel. If the society +was not numerous enough for him to lose himself in it, at least it +served him as a shield. He held it for a certainty that the princess +had not recognised him; yet he did not cease feeling in her presence +unutterably ill at ease. This Calmuck visage of hers recalled to him +all the miseries, the shame, the hard, grinding slavery of his youth; +he could not look at her without feeling his brow burn as though it were +being seared with a hot iron. + +He entered into conversation with a supercilious, haughty, and pedantic +counsellor-at-law, whose interminable monologues distilled ennui. This +fine speaker seemed charming to Samuel, who found in him wit, knowledge, +scholarship, and taste; he possessed the (in his eyes) meritorious +quality of not knowing Samuel Brohl. For Samuel had come to divide the +human race into two categories: the first comprehended those well-to-do, +thriving people who did not know a certain Brohl; he placed in the +second old women who did know him. He interrogated the counsellor with +deference, he hung upon his words, he smiled with an air of approbation +at all the absurdities that escaped him; he would have been willing to +have his discourse last three hours by the watch; if this charming bore +had shown symptoms of escaping him, he would have held him back by the +button. + +Suddenly he heard a harsh voice, saying to Mme. de Lorcy: “Where is +Count Larinski? Bring him to me; I want to have a discussion with him.” + +He could not do otherwise than comply; he quitted his counsellor with +regret, went over and took a seat in the arm-chair that Mme. de Lorcy +drew up for him at the side of the princess, and which had for him the +effect of a stool of repentance. Mme. de Lorcy moved away, and he was +left _tete-a-tete_ with Princess Gulof, who said to him, “I have been +told that congratulations are due to you, and I must make them at +once--although we are enemies.” + +“By what right are we enemies, princess?” he asked with a slightly +troubled feeling, which quickly passed away as she answered: + +“I am a Russian and you are a Pole, but we shall have no time for +fighting; I leave for London to-morrow morning at seven o’clock.” + +He was on the point of casting himself at her feet and tenderly kissing +her two hands, in testimony of his gratitude. “To-morrow at seven +o’clock,” he mentally ejaculated. “I have slandered her; she has some +good in her.” + +“When I say that I am a Russian,” resumed the princess, “it is merely a +formal speech. Love of country is a prejudice, an idea that has had its +day, that had sense in the times of Epaminondas or of Theseus, but that +has it no longer. We live in the age of the telegraph, the locomotive; +and I know of nothing more absurd now than a frontier, or more +ridiculous than a patriot. Rumour says that you fought like a hero in +the insurrection of 1863; that you gave proof of incomparable prowess, +and that you killed with your own hand ten Cossacks? What harm had they +done you, those poor Cossacks? Do they not sometimes haunt your dreams? +Can you think of your victims without disquietude and without remorse?” + +He replied, in a dry, haughty tone: “I really do not know, princess, how +many Cossacks I have killed; but I do know that there are some subjects +on which I do not love to expatiate.” + +“You are right--I should not comprehend you. Don Quixote did not do +Sancho the honour to explain himself to him every day.” + +“Ah, I beg of you, let us talk a little of the man-monkey,” he observed, +in a rather more pliant tone than he had at first assumed. “That is a +question that has the advantage of being neither Russian nor Polish.” + +“You will not succeed that way in throwing me off the track. I mean to +tell you all the evil I think of you, no matter how it may incense you. +You uttered, at table, theories that displeased me. You are not only a +Polish patriot; you are an idealist, a true disciple of Plato, and you +do not know how I always have detested this man. In all these +sixty years that I have been in this world, I have seen nothing but +selfishness, and grasping after self-gratification. Twice during +dinner you spoke of an ideal world. What is an ideal world? Where is it +situated? You speak of it as of a house whose inhabitants you are well +acquainted with, whose key is in your pocket. Can you show me the key? I +promise not to steal it from you. O poet!--for you are quite as much of +a poet as of a Pole, which is not saying much--” + +“Nothing remains but to hang me,” he interposed, smilingly. + +“No, I shall not hang you. Opinions are free, and there is room enough +in the world for all, even idealists. Besides, if you were to be hanged, +it would bring to the verge of despair a charming girl who adores you, +who was created expressly for you, and whom you will shortly marry. When +will the ceremony take place?” + +“If I dared hope that you would do me the honour of being present, +princess, I should postpone it until your return from England.” + +“You are too amiable; but I could not on any consideration retard the +happiness of Mlle. Moriaz. There, my dear count, I congratulate you +sincerely. I had the pleasure to meet here the future Countess Larinski. +She is adorable! It is an exquisite nature, hers--a true poet’s wife. +She must have brains, discernment; she has chosen you--that says +everything. As to her fortune, I dare not ask you if she has any; you +would turn away from me in disgust. Do idealists trouble their heads +with such vile questions?” + +She leaned towards him, and, fanning herself excitedly, added: “These +poor idealists! they have one misfortune.” + +“And what is that, princess?” + +“They dream with open eyes, and the awakening is sometimes disagreeable. +Ah, my dear Count Larinski, this, that, and the other, _et cetera_. Thus +endeth the adventure.” + +Then, stretching out her neck until her face was close to his, she +darted at him a venomous, viper-like look, and, in a voice that seemed +to cut into his tympanum like a sharp-toothed saw, she hissed, “Samuel +Brohl, the man with the green eyes, sooner or later the mountains must +meet!” + +It seemed to him that the candelabra on the mantel-piece darted out jets +of flame, whose green, blue, and rose-coloured tongues ascended to +the ceiling; and it appeared to him as though his heart was beating as +noisily as a clock-pendulum, and that every one would turn to inquire +whence came the noise. But every one was occupied; no one turned round; +no one suspected that there was a man present on whom a thunderbolt had +just fallen. + +The man passed his hand over his brow, which was covered with a cold +sweat; then dispelling, by an effort of will, the cloud that veiled his +eyes, he, in turn, leaned towards the princess, and with quivering lip +and evil, sardonic glance, said to her, in a low voice: + +“Princess, I have a slight acquaintance with this Samuel Brohl of +whom you speak. He is not a man who will allow himself to be strangled +without a great deal of outcry. You are not much in the habit of +writing, nevertheless he received from you two letters, which he copied, +placing the originals in safety. If ever he sees the necessity of +appearing in a court of justice, these two letters can be made to create +quite a sensation, and unquestionably they will be the delight of all +the petty journals of Paris.” + +Thereupon he made a profound bow, respectfully took leave of Mme. de +Lorcy, and retired, followed by Abbe Miollens, who inflicted a real +torture by insisting on accompanying him to the station. + +No longer restrained by Mme. de Lorcy’s presence, the abbe spoke +freely of the happy event in which he prided himself to have been a +co-operator; he overwhelmed him with congratulation, and all the good +wishes he could possibly think of for his happiness. During a quarter of +an hour he lavished on him his myrrh and honey. Samuel would gladly have +wrung his neck. He could not breathe until the abbe had freed him from +his obtrusive society. + +A storm muttered in the almost cloudless sky. It was a dry storm; the +rain fell elsewhere. The incessant lightning, accompanied by distant +thunder, gleamed from all quarters of the horizon, and darted its +luminous flashes over the whole extent of the plain. At intervals the +hills seemed to be on fire. Several times Samuel, who stood with his +nose against the glass of the car-door, thought that he saw in the +direction of Cormeilles the flaring light of a conflagration, in which +were blazing his dream and two millions, to say nothing of his great +expectations. + +He bitterly reproached himself for his folly of the previous day. “If +I had passed yesterday evening with her,” he thought, “surely she +would have spoken of the Princess Gulof. I would have taken measures +accordingly, and nothing would have happened.” It was all M. Langis’s +fault; it was to him that he imputed the disaster, and he hated him all +the more. + +However, as he approached Paris, he felt his courage returning. + +“Those two letters frightened the old fairy,” he thought. “She will +think twice before she declares war with me. No, she will not dare.” He +added: “And if she dared, Antoinette loves me so much that I can make +her believe what I please.” + +And he prepared in his mind what he should say, in case the event +occurred. + +At that very moment Mme. de Lorcy, who was alone with Princess Gulof, +was saying: “Well, my dear, you have talked with my man. What do you +think of him?” + +The princess distressed her by her reply. “I think, my dear,” she +rejoined, “that Count Larinski is the last of the heroes of romance--or, +if you like better, the last of the troubadours; but I have no reason to +believe him to be an adventurer.” + +Mme. de Lorcy could get nothing further from Princess Gulof; she had +invited her to remain overnight; she got no pay for her hospitality. The +princess spent part of the night in reflecting and deliberating. Samuel +Brohl’s insolent menace had produced some effect. She sought to remember +the exact purport of the two letters that formerly she had had the +imprudence to write him from London, while he was fulfilling a business +commission for her in Paris. On his return she had required Samuel to +burn these two compromising epistles, in her presence; he had deceived +her; he burned the envelopes and blank paper. The thought of some day +having her composition quoted in court, and printed verbatim in the +petty journals, terrified her, and made her blood boil in her veins; +she hardly cared to take Paris and St. Petersburg into her confidence +concerning an experience the recollection of which caused her +disgust--but to let such an admirable opportunity of vengeance escape +her! renounce the delight of the gods and of princesses! permit this man +who had just defied her to accomplish his underhand intrigue! She could +not resign herself to the idea, and the consequence was that, during the +night she spent at Maisons, she scarcely closed her eyes. + + + +CHAPTER XI + +The following day, after breakfast, Mlle. Moriaz was walking alone on +the terrace. The weather was delightfully mild. She was bare-headed, and +had opened her white silk umbrella to protect herself from the sun; for +Samuel Brohl had been a true prophet--there was sunshine. She looked up +at the sky, where no trace was left of the wind-storm of the preceding +evening, and it seemed to her that she never had seen the sky so blue. +She looked at her flower-beds, and the flowers that she saw were perhaps +not there. She looked at the orchard, growing on the slope that bordered +the terrace, and she admired the foliage of the apple-trees, over which +Autumn, with liberal hand, had scattered gold and purple; the grass +there was as high as her knee, and was fragrant and glossy. Above the +apple-trees she saw the spire of the church at Cormeilles; it seemed to +amuse itself watching the flying clouds. It was a high-festival day. +The bells were ringing out a full peal; they spoke to this happy girl +of that far-off, mysterious land which we remember, without ever having +seen it. Their silvery voices were answered by the cheerful cackling of +the hens. She at once understood that a joyful event was occurring +in the poultry-yard, as well as in the belfry; that below, as well as +above, an arrival was being celebrated. But what pleased her more than +all the rest was the little deep-set gateway with its ivy-hung arch at +the end of the orchard. It was through this gate that he would come. + +She walked several times around the terrace. The gravel was elastic, and +rebounded under her step. Never had Mlle. Moriaz felt so light: life, +the present, the future, weighed no heavier on her brow than a bird in +the hand that holds it and feels it tremble. Her heart fluttered like a +bird; like a bird it had wings, and only asked to fly. She believed that +there was happiness everywhere; there seemed to be joy diffused through +the air, in the wind, in every sound, and in all silences. She gazed +smilingly on the vast landscape that was spread out before her eyes, and +the sparkling Seine sent back her smile. + +Some one came to announce that a lady, a stranger, had called, who +wished to speak with her. Immediately thereupon the stranger appeared, +and Mlle. Moriaz was most disagreeably surprised to find herself in the +presence of the Princess Gulof, whom she would willingly never have +seen again. “This is an unpleasant visit,” she thought, as she asked +her guest to be seated on a rustic bench. “What can this woman want with +me?” + +“It was M. Moriaz whom I desired to speak with,” began the princess. +“I am told that he is out. I shall leave in a few hours for Calais; +I cannot await his return, and I have, therefore, decided to address +myself to you, mademoiselle. I have come here to render you one of those +little services that one woman owes to another; but, first of all, I +would like to be assured that I may rely on your absolute discretion; I +do not desire to appear in this affair.” + +“In what affair, madame?” + +“One of no little consequence; it concerns your marriage.” + +“You are extremely kind to concern yourself with my marriage; but I do +not understand----” + +“You will understand in a few moments. So you promise me----” + +“I promise nothing, madame, before I understand.” + +The princess looked in amazement at Mlle. Moriaz. She had anticipated +talking with a dove; she found that the dove had a less accommodating +temper and a much stiffer neck than she had believed. She hesitated for +a moment whether she would not at once end the interview; she decided, +however, to proceed: + +“I have a story to relate to you,” she continued, in a familiar tone; +“listen with attention, I beg of you. I err if in the end you do not +find it interesting. Thirteen or fourteen years ago, one of those +unlucky chances, common in travelling, obliged me to pass several hours +in a miserable little town in Galicia. The inn, or rather the tavern, +where I stopped, was very dirty; the tavern-keeper, an ill-looking +little German Jew, was still dirtier than his tavern, and he had a son +who was in no better condition. I am given to forming illusions about +people. In spite of his filth, this youth interested me. His stupid +father refused him all instruction, and beat him unmercifully; he +appeared intelligent; he made me think of a fresh-water fish condemned +to live in a quagmire. He was called Samuel Brohl: remember the name. I +pitied him and I saw no other way of saving him than to buy him of his +father. This horrid little man demanded an exorbitant price. I assure +you his pretensions were absurd. Well, my dear, I was out of cash; I had +with me just the money sufficient for the expenses of the rest of the +journey; but I wore on my arm a bracelet that had the advantage of +pleasing him. It was a Persian trinket, more singular than beautiful. I +can see it now; it was formed of three large plates of gold ornamented +with grotesque animals, and joined by a filigree network. I valued this +bracelet; it had been brought to me from Teheran. By means of a secret +spring, one of the plates opened, and I had had engraved inside the +most interesting dates of my life, and underneath them my profession of +faith, with which you have no concern. Ah! my dear, when one has once +been touched by that dangerous passion called philanthropy, one becomes +capable of exchanging a Persian bracelet for a Samuel Brohl, and I swear +to you that it was a real fool’s bargain that I made. This miserable +fellow paid me badly for my kindness to him. I sent him to the +university, and later I took him into my service as secretary. He had a +black heart. One fine morning, he took to his heels and disappeared.” + +“That was revolting ingratitude,” interrupted Antoinette, “and your good +work, madame, was poorly recompensed; but I do not see what relation +Samuel Brohl can have to my marriage.” + +“You are too impatient, my darling. If you had given me time I would +have told you that I had had the very unexpected pleasure of dining +yesterday with him at Mme. de Lorcy’s. This German has made great +advances since I lost sight of him; not content with becoming a Pole, +he is now a person of vast importance. He is called Count Abel Larinski, +and he is to marry very soon Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz.” + +The blood rushed into Antoinette’s cheeks, and her eyes flashed fire. +Princess Gulof entirely mistook the sentiment that animated her, and +said: “My dear, don’t be angry, don’t be indignant, your indignation +will not help you at all. Without doubt, a rascal capable of deceiving +such a charming girl as you deserves death ten times over; but be +careful not to make an exposure! My dear, scandal always splashes mud +over every one concerned, and there is a rather vulgar but exceedingly +sensible Turkish proverb that says that the more garlic is crushed, the +stronger becomes its odour. Believe me, you would not come off without +a tinge of ridicule; certain mistakes always appear a little ridiculous, +and it is useless to proclaim them to the universe. Thank Heaven! you +are not yet the Countess Larinski--I arrived in time to save you. Be +silent about the discovery you have just made; by no means mention it to +Samuel Brohl, and seek a proper pretext to break with him. You would not +be a woman if you could not find ten for one.” + +Mlle. Moriaz could no longer refrain her anger. “Madame,” she exclaimed +excitedly, “will you declare to M. Larinski, in my presence, that his +name is Samuel Brohl?” + +“I made that declaration to him yesterday--it is useless to repeat it. +He was nearer dead than alive, and I was truly sorry for the state into +which I had thrown him. I cannot disguise from myself that I am the +cause of all this; why did I take the boy from his father’s tavern and +his natal mud? Perhaps there he would have remained honest. It was I who +launched him into the world and gave him the desire to advance, I put +the trump-cards into his hand, but he found that he could not win fast +enough by fair play, so he ended by cheating. It is not my place to +overwhelm the poor devil--we owe some consideration to those who are +under obligations to us; and, once more, I desire not to appear further +in this business. Promise me that Samuel Brohl never will be informed of +the measures I have taken.” + +She replied, in a haughty tone: “I promise you, madame, that I never +will do Count Larinski the wrong to repeat to him a single word of the +very likely story you have related to me.” + +The princess rose hastily, remained standing before Mlle. Moriaz, and +contemplated her in silence; finally she said, in tones of the most +cutting sarcasm: “Ah! you do not believe me, my dear. Decidedly you +do not believe me. You are right; you should not put faith in an old +woman’s childish chatter. No, my darling, there is no Samuel Brohl: I +dined yesterday at Maisons with the most authentic of Counts Larinski, +and nothing remains for me to say but to present my best wishes for the +certain happiness of the Countess Larinski, _et cetera_--of the Countess +Larinski and company.” + +With these words she bowed, turned on her heels, and disappeared. + +Mlle. Moriaz remained an instant as if stunned by a blow. She questioned +herself as to whether she had not seen a vision, or had had the +nightmare. Was it, indeed, a Russian princess of flesh and blood who had +just been there, who had been seated close beside her, and had conversed +so strangely with her that the belfry of Cormeilles could not hear +it without falling into a profound stupor? In fact, the belfry of +Cormeilles had become silent, its bells no longer rang; an appalling +silence reigned for two leagues round. + +Antoinette soon controlled her emotions. “The day before yesterday,” she +thought, “this woman appeared to me to be deranged: she is a lunatic; +I wish that Abel were here, he could tell me what happened at dinner +between him and this dotard, and we should laugh over it together. +Perhaps nothing happened at all. The Princess Gulof should be confined. +They do very wrong to let maniacs like that go at large. It is +dangerous; the bells of Cormeilles have ceased ringing. Ah! _bon Dieu_, +who knows? Mme. de Lorcy surely has a hand in this business; it is the +result of some grand plot. How many acts are there in the play? Here +we are at the second or third; but there are some jokes that are very +provoking. I shall end by being seriously angry.” + +Princess Gulof appeared to have entirely failed in her object. It +seemed to Mlle. Moriaz that for the last twenty minutes she loved Count +Larinski more than ever before. + +The hour drew near; he was on the way; she had never been so impatient +to see him. She saw some one at the end of the terrace. It was M. +Camille Langis, who was going towards the laboratory. + +He turned his head, retraced his steps, and came to her. M. Moriaz had +asked him to translate two pages of a German memoir which he had not +been able to understand. Camille was bringing the translation; perhaps +that was the reason of his coming back to Cormeilles after two days; +perhaps, too, it was only a pretext. + +Mlle. Moriaz could not help thinking that his visit was inopportune; +that he had chose an unfortunate time for it. “If the count finds him +still here,” thought she, “I am not afraid that he will make a scene, +but all his pleasure will be spoiled.” There was a tinge of coldness in +her welcome to M. Langis, of which he was sensible. + +“I am in the way,” he said, making a movement to retire. + +She kept him, and altered her tone: “You are never in the way, Camille. +Sit there.” + +He seated himself, and talked of the races at Chantilly, that he had +attended the day before. + +She listened to him, bowed her head in sign of approval; but she heard +his voice through a mist that veiled her senses. She lifted her hand to +brush away a wasp that annoyed her by its buzzing. The lace of her cuff, +in falling back, left her wrist exposed. + +“What a curious bracelet you have!” said M. Langis. + +“Have you not seen it before?” she replied. “It is some time since----” + +She interrupted herself, a sudden idea occurring to her. She looked at +her wrist. This bracelet from which she never was parted--this bracelet +that Count Larinski had given to her--this bracelet that he loved +because it had belonged to his mother, and that the late Countess +Larinski had worn as long as she lived--resembled none other; but Mlle. +Moriaz observed that it had a strong resemblance to the Persian +bracelet that the Princess Gulof had described to her, and which she +had exchanged for Samuel Brohl. The three gold plates, the grotesque +animals, the filigree network--nothing was wanting. She took it from +her arm and handed it to M. Langis, saying to him: “There is, it seems, +something written on the interior of one of these plates; but you must +know the secret to be able to open it. Can you guess secrets?” + +He carefully examined the bracelet. “Two of these plates,” said he, +“are solid, and of heavy gold; the third is hollow, and might serve as a +case. I see a little hinge that is almost invisible; but I seek in vain +for the secret--I cannot find it.” + +“Is the hinge strong?” + +“Not very, and the lid easily could be forced open.” + +“That is what I want you to do,” she rejoined. + +“What are you thinking of? I would not spoil a trinket that you value.” + +She replied: “I have made the acquaintance of a Russian princess who has +a mania for physiology and dissection. I have caught the disease, and I +want to begin to dissect. I am fond of this trinket, but I want to know +what is inside. Do as I tell you,” she continued. “You will find in the +laboratory the necessary instruments. Go; the key is in the door.” + +He consulted her look; her eye was burning, her voice broken, and she +repeated: “Go--go! Do you not understand me?” + +He obeyed, went to the laboratory, taking the bracelet with him. After +five minutes he returned saying: “I am very unskilful; I crushed the lid +in raising it; but you wished it, and your curiosity will be satisfied.” + +She could, in truth, satisfy her curiosity. She eagerly seized the +bracelet, and on the back of the plate, now left bare, she saw engraved +in the gold, characters almost microscopic in size. Through the greatest +attention she succeeded in deciphering them. She distinguished several +dates, marking the year, the month, and the day, when some important +event had occurred to the Princess Gulof. These dates, accompanied by +no indication of any kind, formerly sufficed to recall the principal +experiments that she had practised on mankind before having discovered +Samuel Brohl. The result had not been very cheerful, for beneath this +form of calendar stood a confession of faith, thus expressed, “Vanity +of vanities, all is vanity!” This melancholy declaration was signed, +and the signature was perfectly legible. Mlle. Moriaz spelled it +out readily, although at that moment her sight was dim, and she was +convinced that the trinket, which Count Larinski had presented to her as +a family relic, had belonged to Anna Petrovna, Princess Gulof. + +She grew mortally pale, and lost consciousness; she seemed on the verge +of an attack of delirium. In the agitation of her mind, she imagined +that she saw herself at a great distance, at the end of the world, and +very small; she was climbing a mountain, on the other side of which +there was a man awaiting her. She questioned herself, “Am I, or is this +traveller, Mlle. Moriaz?” She closed her eyes, and saw a blank abyss +open before her, in which her life was ingulfed, whirled about, like the +leaf of a tree in a whirlpool. + +M. Langis drew near her, and, lightly slapping the palms of her hands, +said, “What is the matter?” + +She roused herself, made an effort to lift her head, and let it sink +again. The trouble that lay in the depths of her heart choked her; +she experienced an irresistible need of confiding in some one, and she +judged that the man who was talking to her was one of those men to whom +a woman can tell her secret, one of those souls to whom she could +pour out her shame without blushing. She began, in a broken voice, +a confused, disconnected recital that Camille could scarcely follow. +However, he finally understood; he felt himself divided between an +immense pity for her despair, and a fierce lover’s joy that tightened +his throat and well-nigh strangled him. + +The belfry of Cormeilles had recovered its voice; two o’clock rang out +on the air. Antoinette rose and exclaimed: “I was to meet him at the +pretty little gate that you see from here! He will have the right to be +angry if I keep him waiting.” + +At once she hastened towards the balustered steps that led from the +terrace to the orchard. M. Langis followed her, seeking to detain her. +“You need not see him again,” said he. “I will meet him. Pray, charge me +with your explanations.” + +She repelled him and replied, in a voice of authority: “I wish to see +him, no one but I can say to him what I have in my heart. I command you +to remain here; I intend that he shall blame no one but me.” She added +with a curl of the lips meant for a smile: “You must remember, I do not +believe yet that I have been deceived; I will not believe it until I +have read the lie in his eyes.” + +She hastily descended into the orchard, and, during five minutes, her +eye fixed on the gate, she waited for Samuel Brohl. Her impatience +counted the seconds, and yet Mlle. Moriaz could have wished the gate +would never open. There was near by an old apple-tree that she loved; +in the old days she had more than once suspended her hammock from one of +its arched and drooping branches. She leaned against the gnarled trunk +of the old tree. It seemed to her that she was not alone; some one +protected her. + +At last the gate opened and admitted Samuel Brohl, who had a smile on +his lips. His first words were: “And your umbrella! You have forgotten +it?” + +She replied: “Do you not see that there is no sunshine?” And she +remained leaning against the apple-tree. + +He uplifted his hand to show her the blue sky; he let it fall again. He +looked at Antoinette, and he was afraid. He guessed immediately that she +knew all. At once he grew audacious. + +“I spent a dull day yesterday,” said he. “Mme. de Lorcy invited me to +dine with a crazy woman; but the night made up for it. I saw Engadine +in my dreams--the firs, the Alpine pines, the emerald lakes, and a red +hood.” + +“I, too, dreamed last night. I dreamed that the bracelet you gave me +belonged to the crazy woman of whom you speak, and that she had her name +engraved on it.” + +She threw him the bracelet: he picked it up, examined it, turned and +returned it in his trembling fingers. She grew impatient. “Look at the +place that has been forced open. Don’t you know how to read?” + +He read, and became stupefied. Who would have believed that this trinket +that he had found among his father’s old traps had come to him from +Princess Gulof? that it was the price she had paid for Samuel Brohl’s +ignominy and shame? Samuel was a fatalist; he felt that his star had +set, that Fate had conspired to ruin his hopes, that he was found guilty +and condemned. His heart grew heavy within him. + +“Can you tell me what I ought to think of a certain Samuel Brohl?” she +asked. + +That name, pronounced by her, fell on him like a mass of lead; he never +would have believed that there could be so much weight in a human word. +He trembled under the blow; then he struck his brow with his clinched +hand and replied: + +“Samuel Brohl is a man as worthy of your pity as he is of mine. If you +knew all that he has suffered, all that he has dared, you could not help +deeply pitying him and admiring him. Listen to me; Samuel Brohl is an +unfortunate man--” + +“Or a wretch!” she interrupted, in a terrible voice. She was seized by +a fit of nervous laughter; she cried out: “Mme. Brohl! I will not be +called Mme. Brohl. Ah! that poor Countess Larinski!” + +He had a spasm of rage that would have terrified her had she conjectured +what agitated him. He raised his head, crossed his arms on his breast, +and said, with a bitter smile: + +“It was not the man that you loved, it was the count.” + +She replied, “The man whom I loved never lied.” + +“Yes, I lied!” he cried, gasping for breath. “I drank that cup of shame +without remorse or disgust. I lied because I loved you madly. I lied +because you were dearer to me than my honour. I lied because I despaired +of touching your heart, and any road seemed good that led to you. Why +did I meet you? why could I not see you without recognising in you the +dream of my whole life? Happiness had passed me by, it was about to take +flight; I caught it in a trap--I lied. Who would not lie, to be loved by +you?” + +Samuel Brohl never had looked so handsome. Despair and passion kindled a +sombre flame in his eyes; he had the sinister charm of a fiery Satan. +He fixed on Antoinette a fascinating glance that said: “What matter my +name, my lies, and the rest? My face is not a mask, and I am the man who +pleased you.” He had not the least suspicion of the astonishing facility +with which Antoinette had taken back the heart that she had given away +so easily; he did not suspect that miracles can be wrought by contempt. +In the middle ages people believed in golems, figures in clay of an +entrancing beauty, which had all the appearance of life. Under a lock of +hair was written, in Hebrew characters, on their brow, the word “Truth.” + If they chanced to lie, the word was obliterated; they lost all their +charm, the clay was no longer anything but clay. + +Mlle. Moriaz divined Samuel Brohl’s thought; she exclaimed: “The man I +loved was he whose history you related to me.” + +He would have liked to kill her, so that she never should belong to +another. Behind Antoinette, not twenty steps distant, he descried +the curb of a well, and grew dizzy at the sight. He discovered, with +despair, that he was not made of the stuff for crime. He dropped down on +his knees in the grass, and cried, “If you will not pardon me, nothing +remains for me but to die!” She stood motionless and impassive. She +repeated between her teeth Camille Langis’s phrase: “I am waiting until +this great comedian has finished playing his piece.” + +He rose and started to run towards the well. She was in front of him and +barred the passage, but at the same moment she felt two hands clasp +her waist, and the breath of two lips that sought her lips and that +murmured, “You love me still, since you do not want me to die.” + +She struggled with violence and horror; she succeeded, by a frantic +effort, in disengaging herself from his grasp. She fled towards the +house. Samuel Brohl rushed after her in mad pursuit; he was just +reaching her, when he suddenly stopped. He had caught sight of M. +Langis, hurrying from out a thicket, where he had been hidden. Growing +uneasy, he had approached the orchard through a path concealed by the +heavy foliage. Antoinette, out of breath, ran to him, gasping, “Camille, +save me from this man!” and she threw herself into his arms, which +closed about her with delight. He felt her sink; she would have fallen +had he not supported her. + +At the same instant a menacing voice saluted him with the words, +“Monsieur, we will meet again!” + +“To-day, if you will,” he replied. + +Antoinette’s wild excitement had given place to insensibility; she +neither saw nor heard; her limbs no longer sustained her. Camille had +great difficulty in bringing her to the house; she could not ascend the +steps of the terrace; he was obliged to carry her. Mlle. Moiseney saw +him, and filled the air with her cries. She ran forward, she lavished +her best care on her queen. All the time she was busy in bringing her to +her senses she was asking Camille for explanations, to which she did not +pay the least attention; she interrupted him at every word to exclaim: +“This has been designed, and you are at the bottom of the plot. I have +suspected you--you owe Antoinette a grudge. Your wounded vanity never +has recovered from her refusal, and you are determined to be revenged. +Perhaps you flatter yourself that she will end by loving you. She does +not love you, and she never will love you. Who are you, to dare compare +yourself with Count Larinski? Be silent! Do I believe in Samuel Brohl? I +do not know Samuel Brohl. I venture my head that there is no such person +as Samuel Brohl.” + +“Not much of a venture, mademoiselle,” replied M. Moriaz, who had +arrived in the meantime. + +Antoinette remained during an hour in a state of mute languor; then a +violent fever took possession of her. When the physician who had been +sent for arrived, M. Langis accompanied him into the chamber of the sick +girl. She was delirious: seated upright, she kept continually passing +her hand over her brow; she sought to efface the taint of a kiss she +had received one moonlight night, and the impression in her hair of the +flapping of a bat’s wings that had caught in her hood. These two things +were confounded in her memory. From time to time she said: “Where is my +portrait? Give me my portrait.” + +It was about ten o’clock when M. Langis called on Samuel Brohl, who was +not astonished to see him appear; he had hoped he would come. Samuel +had regained self-possession. He was calm and dignified. However, the +tempest through which he had gone had left on his features some vestige +of its passage. His lips quivered, and his beautiful chestnut locks +curled like serpents about his temples, and gave his head a Medusa-like +appearance. + +He said to Camille: “Where and when? Our seconds will undertake the +arrangement of the rest.” + +“You mistake, monsieur, the motive of my visit,” replied M. Langis. “I +am grieved to destroy your illusions, but I did not come to arrange a +meeting with you.” + +“Do you refuse to give me satisfaction?” + +“What satisfaction do I owe you?” + +“You insulted me.” + +“When?” + +“And you said: ‘The day, the place, the weapons. I leave all to your +choice.’” + +M. Langis could not refrain from smiling. “Ah! you at last acknowledge +that your fainting-fit was comedy?” he rejoined. + +“Acknowledge on your part,” replied Samuel, “that you insult persons +when you believe that they are not in a state to hear you. Your courage +likes to take the safe side.” + +“Be reasonable,” replied Camille. “I placed myself at Count Larinski’s +disposal: you cannot require me to fight with a Samuel Brohl!” + +Samuel sprang to his feet; with fierce bearing and head erect he +advanced to the young man, who awaited him unflinchingly, and whose +resolute manner awed him. He cast upon him a sinister look, turned, +and reseated himself, bit his lips until the blood came; then said in a +placid voice: + +“Will you do me the favour of telling me, monsieur, to what I owe the +honour of this visit?” + +“I came to demand of you a portrait that Mlle. Moriaz is desirous of +having returned.” + +“If I refuse to give it up, you will doubtless appeal to my delicacy?” + +“Do you doubt it?” ironically replied Camille. + +“That proves, monsieur, that you still believe in Count Larinski; that +it is to him you speak at this moment?” + +“You deceive yourself. I came to see Samuel Brohl, who is a +business-man, and it is a commercial transaction that I intend to hold +with him.” And drawing from his pocket a porte-monnaie, he added: “You +see I do not come empty-handed.” + +Samuel settled himself in his arm-chair. Half closing his eyes, he +watched M. Langis through his eye-lashes. A change passed over his +features; his nose became more crooked, and his chin more pointed; he no +longer resembled a lion, he was a fox. His lips wore the sugared smile +of a usurer, one who lays snares for the sons of wealthy families, and +who scents out every favourable case. If at this moment Jeremiah Brohl +had seen him from the other world, he would have recognised his own +flesh and blood. + +He said at last to Camille: “You are a man of understanding, monsieur; I +am ready to listen to you.” + +“I am very glad of it, and, to speak frankly, I had no doubts about it. +I knew you to be very intelligent, very much disposed to make the best +of an unpleasant conjuncture.” + +“Ah! spare my modesty. I thank you for your excellent opinion of me; I +should warn you that I am accused of being greedy after gain. You will +leave some of the feathers from your wings between my fingers.” + +For a reply M. Langis significantly patted the porte-monnaie which +he held in his hand, and which was literally stuffed with bank-notes. +Immediately Samuel took from a locked drawer a casket, and proceeded to +open it. + +“This is a very precious gem,” he said. “The medallion is gold, and the +work on the miniature is exquisite. It is a master-piece--the colour +equals the design. The mouth is marvellously rendered. Mengs or Liotard +could not have done better. At what do you value this work of art?” + +“You are more of a connoisseur than I. I will leave it to your own +valuation.” + +“I will let you have the trinket for five thousand francs; it is almost +nothing.” + +Camille began to draw out the five thousand francs from his +porte-monnaie. “How prompt you are!” remarked Samuel. “The portrait has +not only a value as a work of art; I am sure you attach a sentimental +value to it, for I suspect you of being head and ears in love with the +original.” + +“I find you too greedy,” replied Camille, casting on him a crushing +glance. + +“Do not be angry. I am accustomed to exercise methodical precision in +business affairs. My father always sold at a fixed price, and I, too, +never lower my charges. You will readily understand that what is worth +five thousand francs to a friend is worth double to a lover. This gem is +worth ten thousand francs. You can take it or leave it.” + +“I will take it,” replied M. Langis. + +“Since we agree,” continued Samuel, “I possess still other articles +which might suit you.” + +“Why, do you think of selling me your clothing?” + +“Let us come to an understanding. I have other articles of the same +lot.” + +And he brought from a closet the red hood, which he spread out on the +table. + +“Here is an article of clothing--to use your own words--that may be of +interest to you. Its colour is beautiful; if you saw it in the sunshine, +it would dazzle you. I grant that the stuff is common--it is very +ordinary cashmere--but if you deign to examine it closely, you will be +struck by the peculiar perfume that it exhales. The Italians call it +‘_l’odor femminino_.’” + +“And what is your rate of charge for the ‘_odor femminino_?’” + +“I will be moderate. I will let you have this article and its perfume +for five thousand francs. It is actually giving it away.” + +“Assuredly. We will say ten and five--that makes fifteen thousand.” + +“One moment. You can pay for all together. I have other things to offer +you. One would say that the floor burned your feet, and that you could +not endure being in this room.” + +“I allow that I long to leave this--what shall I say?--this shop, lair, +or den.” + +“You are young, monsieur; it never does to hurry; haste causes us acts +of forgetfulness that we afterwards regret. You would be sorry not to +take away with you these two scraps of paper.” + +At these words he drew from his note-book two letters, which he +unfolded. + +“Is there much more?” demanded Camille. “I fear that I shall become +short of funds, and be obliged to go back for more.” + +“Ah! these two letters, I will not part with them for a trifle, the +second especially. It is only twelve lines in length; but what pretty +English handwriting! Only see! and the style is loving and tender. I +will add that it is signed. Ah! monsieur, Mlle. Moriaz will be charmed +to see these scrawls again. Under what obligations she will be to you! +You will make the most of it; you will tell her that you wrested them +from me, your dagger at my throat--that you terrified me. With what a +gracious smile she will reward your heroism! According to my opinion, +that smile is as well worth ten thousand francs as the medallion--the +two gems are of equal value.” + +“If you want more, it makes no difference.” + +“No, monsieur; I have told you I have only one price.” + +“At this rate, it is twenty-five thousand francs that I owe you. You +have nothing more to sell me?” + +“Alas! that is all.” + +“Will you swear it?” + +“What, monsieur! you admit, then, that Samuel Brohl has a word of +honour--that when he has sworn, he can be believed?” + +“You are right; I am still very young.” + +“That is all, then, I swear to you,” affirmed Samuel, sighing. “My shop +is poorly stocked; I had begun laying in a supply, but an unfortunate +accident deranged my little business.” + +“Bah! be consoled,” replied M. Langis; “you will find another +opportunity; a genius of such lofty flights as yours never is at a loss. +You have been unfortunate; some day Fortune will compensate you for the +wrongs she has done you, and the world will accord justice to your fine +talents.” + +Speaking thus, he laid on the table twenty-five notes of a thousand +francs each. He counted them; Samuel counted them after him, and at once +delivered to him the medallion, the hood, and the two letters. + +Camille rose to leave. “Monsieur Brohl,” he said, “from the first day +I saw you, I formed the highest opinion of your character. The reality +surpasses my expectations. I am charmed to have made your acquaintance, +and I venture to hope that you are not sorry to have made mine. However, +I shall not say, _au revoir_.” + +“Who knows?” replied Samuel, suddenly changing his countenance and +attitude. And he added, “If you are fond of being astonished, monsieur, +will you remain still another instant in this den?” + +He rolled and twisted the twenty-five one-thousand-franc notes into +lamp-lighters; then, with a grand gesture, _a la Poniatowski_, he +approached the candle, held them in the flame until they blazed, and +then threw them on the hearth, where they were soon consumed. + +Turning towards M. Langis, he cried, “Will you now do me the honour of +fighting with me?” + +“After such a noble act as that, I can refuse you nothing,” returned +Camille. “I will do you that signal honour.” + +“Just what I desire,” replied Samuel. “I am the offended; I have the +choice of arms.” And, in showing M. Langis out, he said, “I will not +conceal from you that I have frequented the shooting-galleries, and that +I am a first-class pistol-shot.” + +Camille bowed and went out. + +The next day, in a lucid interval, Mlle. Moriaz saw at the foot of +her bed a medallion laid on a red hood. From that moment the physician +announced an improvement in her symptoms. + + + +CHAPTER XII + +Six days after these events, Samuel Brohl, having passed through +Namur and Liege without stopping at either place, arrived by rail at +Aix-la-Chapelle. He went directly to the Hotel Royal, close to the +railroad-station; he ordered a hearty dinner to be served him, which he +washed down with foaming champagne. He had an excellent appetite; his +soul kept holiday; his heart was expanded, inflated with joy, and his +brain intoxicated. He had revenged himself; he had meted out justice to +that insolent fellow, his rival. Mlle. Moriaz did not belong to +Samuel Brohl, but she never would belong to Camille Langis. Near the +Franco-Belgian frontier, on the verge of a forest, a man had been shot +in the breast; Samuel Brohl had seen him fall; and some one had cried, +“He is dead!” It is asserted that Aix-la-Chapelle is a very dull city, +that the very dogs suffer so sadly from ennui that they piteously beg +passers-by to kick them, with a view to having a little excitement. +Samuel never felt one moment’s ennui during the evening that he spent +in Charlemagne’s city. He had constantly in mind a certain spot in a +forest, and a man falling; and he experienced a thrill of delight. + +After the champagne, he drank punch, an after that he slept like a +dormouse; unfortunately, sleep dissipated his exhilaration, and when he +awoke his gaiety had left him. He had the fatal custom of reflecting; +his reflections saddened him; he was revenged, but what then? He thought +for a long while of Mlle. Moriaz; he gazed with melancholy eye at his +two hands, which had allowed her and good fortune to elude their grasp. + +He recited in a low voice some German verses, signifying: + +“I have resolved to bury my songs and my dreams; bring me a large +coffin. Why is this coffin so heavy? Because in it with my dreams I have +laid away my love and my sorrows.” + +When he had recited these verses Samuel felt sadder than before, and he +cursed the poets. “They did me great harm,” he said, bitterly. “Without +them I had spent days interwoven with gold and silk. My future was +secure: it was they who gave me a distaste for my position. I believed +in them; I was the dupe of their hollow declamation; they taught me +thoughtless contempt, and they gave me the sickly ambition to play the +silly part of a man of fine sentiments. I despised the mud. Where am I +now?” + +He had formed the project of going to Holland and of embarking thence +for America. What would he do in the United States? He did not know yet. +He passed in review all the professions that at all suited him; they +all required an outlay for first expenses. Thanks to God and to M. +Guldenthal, whose loan was in the greatest danger, he was not destitute +of all supplies. But a week previous he had held into the flames and +burned twenty-five one-thousand-franc bills of the Bank of France. He +felt some remorse for the act; he could not help thinking that a revenge +that cost twenty-five thousand francs was an article of luxury of which +poor devils should deprive themselves. In thinking over this adventure, +it seemed to him that it was another than himself who had burned those +bills, or at least that he had mechanically executed this _auto-da-fe_ +through a sort of thoughtless impulse, like a puppet moved by an +invisible string. Suddenly the phantom with whom he had had frequent +conversations appeared, and there was a sneer on its lips. Samuel +addressed it once more--this was to be the last time; he said: + +“Imbecile! You are my evil genius. It was you who caused me to commit +this extravagance. You yourself lighted the candle, you put the bills +into my hands, you guided my arm, extended it, held it above the fatal +flame. This act of supreme heroism was your work; it is not I, it is +you, who paid so dearly for the pleasure of astonishing one who wantonly +insulted me, and of killing him. Cursed forever be the day when I +assumed your name, and when I conceived the foolish notion of becoming +your second self! I made myself a Pole: did Poland ever have the least +idea of government? You of all men were the most incapable of making +your way; I aped a poor model indeed. Abel Larinski, I break off all +connection with you; I wind up the affairs of our firm, I put the key +under the door, or drop it down the well. O my great Pole! I return to +you your title, your name, and with your name all that you gave me--your +pride, your pretensions, your dangerous delicacy, your attitudes, your +sentimental grimaces, and your waving plume.” + +It was thus that Samuel Brohl took a decisive farewell of Count Abel +Larinski, who might henceforth rest quietly in his grave; there was no +further danger of a dead man being compromised by a living one. What +name did Samuel Brohl mean now to assume? Out of spite to his destiny, +he chose for the time the humblest of all; he decided to call himself +Kicks, which was his mother’s name. + +His melancholy would have known no bounds, had he suspected that Camille +Langis was still in the world. Camille Langis for two weeks lay between +life and death, but the ball had finally been successfully extracted. +Mme. de Lorcy hastened to Mons and nursed him like a mother; she had the +joy of bringing him back alive to Paris. + +Care was taken that no mention of the duel should be made to Mlle. +Moriaz, and not a word concerning it reached her; her condition for a +long time caused the gravest anxiety. After she became convalescent she +remained sunk in a gloomy, taciturn sadness. She never made the least +allusion to what had passed, and would not permit any one to speak of it +to her. She had been deceived, and a mortification, mingled with dread, +was the result of her mistake. It seemed to her that nothing remained in +life for her but remembrance and silence. + +Towards the end of November, M. Moriaz proposed to her that they should +return to Paris. She expressed her desire not to leave Cormeilles--to +pass the winter in solitude; the human face terrified her. M. Moriaz +tried to represent to her that she was unreasonable. + +“Will you wear eternal mourning for a stranger?” he asked; “for, in +reality, the man that you loved you never saw. Ah! _mon Dieu_, you +deceived, you deluded yourself. Is there, I will not say a single woman, +but a single member of the Institute, who has not once been grossly +imposed on? It is through the means of failures in experiments that +science progresses.” + +And he rose to still higher considerations; he endeavoured to prove to +her that, if it is bad to have erred, an excessive fear of erring is +a still worse evil, because it is better to lose one’s way than not to +walk at all. + +When he had finished his harangue, she said, shaking her head, “I have +no longer faith in any one.” + +“What! not even in the brave fellow to whom you owe the recovery of your +portrait and your letters?” + +“Of whom do you speak?” she exclaimed. + +Then he declared to her how M. Langis had effected the descent into the +den, without telling her what had resulted therefrom. + +“Ah! that was kind, very kind,” she said. “I never doubted that Camille +was a true friend.” + +“A friend? Are you very sure that it is only friendship that he feels +for you?” + +Whereupon M. Moriaz told her all the rest. She grew pensive and sank +into a reverie. Suddenly the door of the _salon_ opened, and Camille +entered. After inquiring after her health, he informed her that in +consequence of a cold he, too, had been sick; and, as he was now free +from business engagements, his physician was sending him to pass the +winter in Sorrento. + +She replied: “That is a journey that I would like to make. Will you take +me with you?” + +She gazed fixedly at him; there was everything in her gaze. He bent his +knee before her, and for some moments they remained hand-in-hand, and +eye to eye. In the midst of this, Mlle. Moiseney appeared, who, at sight +of this _tableau vivant_, stood perfectly confounded. + +“You are very much astonished, mademoiselle,” said M. Moriaz to her. + +“Not so much as you fancy, monsieur,” replied she, recovering herself. +“I did not dare to say it, but in my heart I always believed, always +thought--Yes, I always was sure that it would end thus.” + +“God bless Pope Joan!” he cried; “I shall cease to correct her.” + +We have failed to learn what Samuel Brohl is doing in America. In +waiting for something better, has he become an humble teacher? has he +attempted a new matrimonial enterprise? has he become a reporter of the +_New York Herald_, or a politician in one of the Northern States, or +a carpet-bagger in South Carolina? does he dream of being some day +President of the glorious republic with the starry banner? + +Up to the present time, no American journal has devoted the shortest +paragraph to him. Adventurers are beings who constantly vanish and +reappear; they belong to the family of divers; but, after many plunges, +they always end by some catastrophe. The wave supports the drowning man +an instant, then bears him away and drags him down to the depths of the +briny abyss; there is heard a splash, a ripple, a hoarse cry, followed +by a smothered groan, and Samuel Brohl is no more! For some days the +question is agitated whether his real name is Brohl, Kicks, or Larinski; +soon something else is talked about, and his memory becomes a prey to +eternal silence. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s Samuel Brohl & Company, by Victor Cherbuliez + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SAMUEL BROHL & COMPANY *** + +***** This file should be named 2470-0.txt or 2470-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/7/2470/ + +Produced by Dagny; John Bickers; David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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