nce
concerning him. Antoinette is foolish in forming such an acquaintance,
it must be admitted; but, in matters of honour, she is as delicate as
an ermine in tending the whiteness of her robe; if there be in M.
Larinski's past a stain no larger than a ten-sou piece, she will forever
discard him. Let me act; be wise, do not blow out any one's brains.
_Grand Dieu!_ what would become of us, if the only way to get rid of
people was by killing them?"

As she pronounced these words a servant entered, bearing a card on a
silver salver. She took the card and exclaimed: "When you speak of the
wolf--Here is our man!" She begged M. Langis to retire; he implored
permission to remain, promising to be a model of discretion. She was
insisting on his leaving when Count Abel Larinski appeared.

Samuel Brohl had scarcely taken three steps in Mme. de Lorcy's _salon_
before he conjectured why M. Moriaz had asked him to go there, and
what was the significance of the commission with which he was charged.
Notwithstanding the _salon_ had a southern exposure, and that it was
then the middle of the month of August, it seemed to him to be cold
there. He thought that he felt a draught of chilly air, an icy wind,
which pierced him through and through, and caused him an unpleasant
shiver. He did not need to look very attentively at Mme. de Lorcy to be
convinced that he was before his judge, and that this judge was not a
friendly one; and, as soon as his gaze met that of M. Camille Langis,
something warned him that this young man was his enemy. Samuel Brohl had
the gift of observation.

He delivered his message, and handed Mme. de Lorcy the little portfolio
that contained Mlle. Moriaz's painting, expressing his regret that
business had prevented his coming sooner. Mme. de Lorcy thanked him for
his kindness, with rather a cool politeness, and asked him for news of
her goddaughter. He did not expatiate on this topic.

"The valley of Saint Moritz is a dreary country," she next said.

"Rather say, madame, that it is a dreary country possessing a great
charm for those who love it."

"It appears that Mlle. Moriaz is almost wearied to death there. I should
think she would die of ennui."

"Do you think her capable of yielding to ennui in any place?"

"Certainly, do not doubt it; but she has recourse to her imagination
to dispel the tedium. She has a marvellous talent for procuring herself
diversion and for varying her pleasures. Hers is an imaginati