me. de Lorcy, and who
had extracted from him the promise to come and see him. Camille had kept
this promise. Had he chosen well his time of doing so? The truth is, he
had been both rejoiced and heart-broken to learn that Mlle. Moriaz was
absent. Man is a strange combination of contradictions, especially a
man who is in love. In the same way he had bestowed both blessings and
imprecations upon Heaven for permitting him to meet Antoinette. During
some moments he had lost countenance, but had quickly recovered himself;
he had formed the generous resolution to act out consistently his role
of friend and brother. He had acquitted himself of it so well at Saint
Moritz, that Antoinette believed him cured of the caprice of a day with
which she had inspired him and which she had never taken seriously.

"The last time I saw you," said she, "you dropped a remark that pained
me, but I am pleased to think that you did not mean to do so."

"I am a terrible culprit," he rejoined, "and I smite myself upon the
breast therefore. I was wanting in respect to your idol."

"Fortunately, my idol knew nothing about it, and, if he had known, I
would have appeased him by saying: 'Pardon this young man; he does not
always know what he is saying.'"

"He even seldom knows it; but what help is there for it? A man given to
fainting always did seem a curiosity to me. I know we should endeavour
to conquer our prejudices; every country has its customs, and, since
Poland is a country that pleases you, I will make an effort to see only
its good sides."

"Now that is the right way to talk. I hope this very day to reconcile
you with Count Larinski; stay and dine with us--he will be here very
soon; the first duty of the people whom I love is to love one another."

M. Langis at first energetically declined accepting this invitation;
Antoinette insisted: he ended by bowing in sign of obedience. Youth has
a taste for suffering.

Tracing figures in the gravel with a stick he had picked up, M. Langis
said, in a wholly unconstrained voice: "I do not wish M. Larinski any
harm, and yet you must admit that I would have the right to detest him
cordially, for I had the honour two years ago, if I mistake not, of
asking your hand in marriage. Do you remember it?"

"Perfectly," she replied, fixing upon him her pure, clear eyes; "but I
ought to avow to you that this fancy of yours never seemed to me either
very reasonable or very serious."

"You are wrong; I can