s eyes took an inventory of her furniture? If he had
forgotten himself at Maisons, he never forgot himself at Cormeilles.
What cared he for the sordid affairs of the sublunary sphere? He floated
in ether; heaven had opened to him its portals; the blessed are too
absorbed in their ecstasy to pay heed to details or to take an inventory
of paradise. Nevertheless, Samuel's ecstasies did not prevent him from
embracing every opportunity to render himself useful or agreeable to
M. Moriaz. He frequently asked permission to accompany him into his
laboratory. M. Moriaz flattered himself that he had discovered a new
body to which he attributed most curious properties. Since his return he
had been occupied with some very delicate experiments, which he did not
always carry out to his satisfaction; his movements were brusque, his
hands all thumbs; very often he chanced to ruin everything by breaking
his vessels. Samuel proposed to assist him in a manipulation requiring
considerable dexterity; he had very flexible fingers, was as expert as a
juggler, and the manipulation succeeded beyond all hopes.

Mme. de Lorcy was furious at having been outwitted by Count Larinski;
she retracted all the concessions she had made concerning him; her
rancour had decided that the man of fainting-fits could not be other
than an imposter. She had disputes on this subject with M. Langis, who
persisted in maintaining that M. Larinski was a great comedian, but that
this, strictly considered, did not prevent his being a true count; in
the course of his travels he had met specimens of them who cheated at
cards and pocketed affronts. Mme. de Lorcy, in return, accused him
of being a simpleton. She had written again to Vienna, in hopes of
obtaining some further intelligence; she had been able to learn nothing
satisfactory. She did not lose courage; she well knew that, in the
important affairs of life, M. Moriaz found it difficult to dispense with
her approbation, and she promised herself to choose with discretion the
moment to make a decisive assault upon him. In the meanwhile she gave
herself the pleasure of tormenting him by her silence, and of grieving
him by her long-continued pouting. One day M. Moriaz said to his
daughter:

"Mme. de Lorcy is displeased with us; this grieves me. I fear you have
dropped some word that has wounded her. I shall be greatly obliged to
you if you will go and see her and coax her into good-humour."

"You gave me a far from agree