ast smiles upon us. The
charming girl is ours. I have won her for you, dear Larinski, by the
means Othello used to charm the imagination and capture the heart of
Desdemona. Do you not remember, my dear Count, the tales you used to
tell us, when we were living together in a garret in Bucharest? How you
fought in the streets of Warsaw against the Cossacks? How they tracked
you through the snow-covered forest by the trail of blood you left
behind you? Oh, I recollected it all, and I flatter myself that I
related it with just that proud, sombre, subdued melancholy with which
you used to speak of your sufferings."

"Do you think that she has really fallen in love with me?" asked Count
Larinski. "I am afraid of her father. In spite of all that I have done
for that famous man of science, he does not seem to fancy me as a
son-in-law. Do you imagine it is merely because of my poverty? Or does
he find anything wrong with me?"

This last question profoundly disturbed the soul of Samuel Brohl. What!
were all the skilful intrigues which he had spent four years in weaving,
to come to nothing? For it was now four years since Samuel Brohl had
entered into his strange partnership with the Polish nobleman. Brohl
himself was the son of a Jewish tavern-keeper in Gallicia. A great
Russian lady, Princess Gulof, attracted by his handsome presence, and
strange green eyes, had engaged him as her secretary and educated him.
He had repaid her by robbing her of her jewels and running off with them
to Bucharest. There he had met Count Larinski, who, for more honourable
motives, was also hiding from the Russian secret police. By representing
himself as a persecuted anarchist, Brohl completely won the confidence
of large-hearted, chivalrous Polish patriot.

"Ah, it was a lucky chance that brought us together!" said Samuel Brohl.
"If you had not met me, you would have been dead, four years ago, and
clean forgotten. Do you remember your last instructions? After giving me
every bit of money you had--a little over two thousand florins, wasn't
it?--you showed me a box containing your family jewels, your letters,
your diary, your papers, and you said to me: 'Destroy everything it
contains. Poland is dead. Let my name die too!'

"But, my dear Count," continued Samuel Brohl, "how could I let a man of
your heroic worth and romantic character be forgotten by the world? No,
it was Samuel Brohl who died and was buried in an unknown grave. I have
the certific