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hat 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。 GaletI mistake； Mlle。 Galardhas 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。 Larinskiis 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 dearit 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