hero. For five years he was the pledged lover of an old woman, and he
fulfilled all the duties of his post. This cherished hero well earned
his money. Are you not eager to be called Mme. Brohl?"

With these words, he opened wide his arms to Mlle. Moriaz, who fixed
upon him a gaze at the same time astonishing and tender, and straining
her to his bosom, kissed her hair and her crown.

Then Samuel Brohl recovered strength, life, movement; clinching his
hands, he sprang forward to dispute with Abel Larinski his prey.
Suddenly, with a shiver of terror and dismay, he paused; he had heard
proceeding from a distant corner of the chamber a shrill, malignant
laugh. He turned, and distinctly perceived his father--a greasy cap
on his head, wrapped in a forlorn, threadbare, dirty caftan. This was
unquestionably Jeremiah Brohl, and this night it seemed truly that the
whole world had arisen from the dead. The little old man continued to
laugh jeeringly; then in a sharp, peevish voice, he cried: "_Schandbube!
vermaledeiter Schlingel! ich will dich zu Brei schlagen!_" which
signifies: "Scoundrel! accursed blackguard! I will beat you to a jelly!"
It was a mode of address that Samuel had heard often in his infancy;
but familiar though he might be with paternal amenities, when he saw
his father uplift a withered, claw-like hand, a cry escaped his lips;
he started back to evade the blow, entangled his feet in the legs of a
chair, stumbled, and flung himself violently against a table.

He opened his eyes and saw no one. He ran to the window and threw open
the shutter; the growing dawn illumined the chamber with its grayish
light. Thank God! there was no one there. The vision had been so real
that it was some time before Samuel Brohl could fully regain his senses,
and persuade himself that his nightmare was forever dissipated, that
phantoms were phantoms, that cemeteries do not surrender their prey.
When he had once acquired this rejoicing conviction, he spoke to
the dead man who had appeared to him, and whose provoking visit had
indiscreetly troubled his sleep, and with considerable hauteur he said,
in a tone of superb defiance: "We must be resigned, my poor Abel; we
shall see each other again only in the valley of Jehosaphat; I have seen
twenty shovelfuls of earth cast upon you--you are dead; I live, and she
is mine!"

Thereupon he hastened to settle his account, and to quit the
Coeur-Volant, within whose walls he promised himself neve