is face convulsed with hatred, he murmured:

"Samuel Brohl is not the sort of man to put up with an injury. Some
years ago, he received two letters from you. If ever he is attacked, he
will publish them."

Rising up, he made her a low bow, and took leave of Mlle. Moriaz and her
father, and left the house. At first, he was utterly downcast, and
inclined to give up the game; but as he tramped back to Paris in the
moonlight, his courage returned. He had two letters which the Princess
had written to him when she was engaged in Paris on a political mission
of great importance, and they contained some amazing indiscretions in
regard to the private lives of several august personages.

"No," he said to himself, "she will think twice before she interferes in
my affairs. I can ruin her as easily as she can ruin me."

As a matter of fact, Princess Gulof was unable to sleep all that night.
She was torn between the desire for vengeance and the fear of reprisals.

_IV.--The Partnership is Dissolved_

The next morning, after breakfast, Mlle. Moriaz was surprised to receive
a visit from Princess Gulof.

"I have come to see you about your marriage," said the Princess.

"You are very kind," replied Mlle. Moriaz, "but I do not understand...."

"You will understand in a minute," said the Princess. "There's a story I
want to tell you, and I think you will find it interesting. Fourteen
years ago I was passing through a village in Gallicia, and the bad
weather forced me to put up at a dirty inn kept by a Jew called Brohl.
This Jew had a son, Samuel, a youngster with strange green eyes and a
handsome figure. Finding that he was an intelligent lad, I paid for him
to study at the University, and later on, I kept him as my private
secretary. But about four years ago Samuel Brohl ran off with all my
jewellery."

"You were indeed badly rewarded for your kindness, Madame." interrupted
Antoinette; "but I do not see what Samuel Brohl has to do with my
marriage."

"I was going to tell you," said the Princess. "I had the pleasure of
meeting him here last night. He has got on since I lost sight of him. He
is not content with changing from a Jew into a Pole; he is now a great
nobleman. He calls himself Count Abel Larinski, and he is engaged to be
married to Mlle. Moriaz. She is now wearing a Persian bracelet he stole
from me."

"Madame," cried Antoinette, her cheeks flushing with anger, "will you
dare to tell Count Larinski, in my presen