ory of its contents,
and that with a rapidity which would have done credit to a practised
appraiser. It was then, especially, that he had the air of a fox.

"Nor is this all. I read the other day the story of a princess who was
travelling over the world, and asked hospitality, one evening, at the
door of a palace. Was she a real princess or an adventuress? The queen
who received her judged it well to ascertain. For this purpose she
prepared for her, with her own hands, a soft bed, composed of two
mattresses, on which she piled five feather-beds; between the two
mattresses she slipped three peas. The next day the traveller was asked
how she had slept. 'Very badly,' she replied. 'I do not know what was in
my bed, but my whole body is bruised; I am black and blue, and I never
closed my eyes until dawn!' 'She is a true princess,' cried the queen.
Is M. Larinski a true prince? I made him undergo the test of the three
peas. I allowed myself to question him with indiscreet, urgent, improper
curiosity; he did not appear to feel the indiscretion. He replied
promptly and submissively; he endeavoured to satisfy me, and I was not
satisfied. I shall see him again to-morrow--he comes to dine at Maisons.
I only wish to be able to prove to myself that he is a true prince.

"My dear professor, you are the most imprudent of men, and, whatever
happens, you have only yourself to blame. People do not open their
doors so easily to strangers. You tell me that, thanks to M. Larinski's
kindness, you did not break your leg. Mercy on me! a father would better
break his leg in three places than expose his daughter to the risk of
marrying an adventurer; his leg could be easily set. There is nothing so
frightful in that.

"_Postscriptum_.--I open my letter. I want to prove to you how much I
desire to be just, and how far my impartiality goes. You know that
my neighbour, Abbe Miollens, lived a long time in Poland, and has
correspondents there. I begged him to get me information concerning the
count--of course, without explaining anything to him. He reports that
Count Abel Larinski is a true count. His father, the confiscation of the
property, the emigration to America, the Isthmus of Panama--all is true;
the history is authentic. Countess Larinski was a saint. Concerning the
son, nothing is known; he must have been three or four years old when he
landed in New York. No one ever saw him; no one seems to know anything
about his taking part in the ins