nt
Moritz; you would think that she had found something here which has
wrought a charm over her. For my own part, I am delighted to have
recovered my appetite, my sleep, and all the rest, and yet I regret
having come; can you reconcile that? Let me know as soon as possible
what you think of my Pole; but, pray do not condemn him unheard. No
hasty decision, I entreat; an expert is bound not to be influenced by
his prejudices, but to weigh his judgments as his words. Adieu, dear
madame; pity me in spite of my full cheeks."

Madame de Lorcy replied in these words, by return mail:

"You are indeed innocent, my dear professor, and your finesse is but too
apparent; I could not help understanding. Is she, indeed so foolish. I
did not think her overwise; but here she astonishes me more than I would
have believed. You can tell her, for me--or rather don't say anything to
her; I will only speak to you, I am too angry to reason with her. I will
see your Pole, I await him resolutely; but, in truth, I have seen him
already. I am well acquainted with him, I know him by heart; I have no
doubt that he is some impostor. I will examine him without prejudice,
with religious impartiality. You are so good as to remind me that an
expert suspends his judgment. I will hold my police force in reserve,
and I will let you know before long what I think of your adventurer.
Ah! yes, I do pity you, poor man. After all, however, you alone are to
blame; is it my fault that you did not know how to act? God bless you!"

At the time when Samuel Brohl, seated amid the heather, in an oak-grove,
was conversing with phantoms, Mme. de Lorcy, alone in her _salon_, was
occupied with her needlework, and her thoughts, which revolved in a
circle, like a horse in a riding-school. She had for several days been
expecting Count Abel Larinski's visit; she wondered at his want of
promptness, and suspected that he was afraid of her. This suspicion
pleased her. Several times she fancied she heard a man's step in the
antechamber, at which she started nervously, and the rose-coloured
strings of her cap fluttered on her shoulders.

Suddenly, while she was counting her stitches, with head bent down, some
one entered without her perceiving it, seized her hand, and, devoutly
kissing it, threw his hat on the table, and then dropped into a chair,
where he remained motionless, with his legs stretched out, and his eyes
riveted on the floor.

"Oh! It is you, Camille," exclaimed M