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 cr