Samuel Brohl and Company | Page 5

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