obliged me to pass several hours
in a miserable little town in Galicia. The inn, or rather the tavern,
where I stopped, was very dirty; the tavern-keeper, an ill-looking
little German Jew, was still dirtier than his tavern, and he had a son
who was in no better condition. I am given to forming illusions about
people. In spite of his filth, this youth interested me. His stupid
father refused him all instruction, and beat him unmercifully; he
appeared intelligent; he made me think of a fresh-water fish condemned
to live in a quagmire. He was called Samuel Brohl: remember the name. I
pitied him and I saw no other way of saving him than to buy him of his
father. This horrid little man demanded an exorbitant price. I assure
you his pretensions were absurd. Well, my dear, I was out of cash; I had
with me just the money sufficient for the expenses of the rest of the
journey; but I wore on my arm a bracelet that had the advantage of
pleasing him. It was a Persian trinket, more singular than beautiful. I
can see it now; it was formed of three large plates of gold ornamented
with grotesque animals, and joined by a filigree network. I valued this
bracelet; it had been brought to me from Teheran. By means of a secret
spring, one of the plates opened, and I had had engraved inside the
most interesting dates of my life, and underneath them my profession of
faith, with which you have no concern. Ah! my dear, when one has once
been touched by that dangerous passion called philanthropy, one becomes
capable of exchanging a Persian bracelet for a Samuel Brohl, and I swear
to you that it was a real fool's bargain that I made. This miserable
fellow paid me badly for my kindness to him. I sent him to the
university, and later I took him into my service as secretary. He had a
black heart. One fine morning, he took to his heels and disappeared."

"That was revolting ingratitude," interrupted Antoinette, "and your good
work, madame, was poorly recompensed; but I do not see what relation
Samuel Brohl can have to my marriage."

"You are too impatient, my darling. If you had given me time I would
have told you that I had had the very unexpected pleasure of dining
yesterday with him at Mme. de Lorcy's. This German has made great
advances since I lost sight of him; not content with becoming a Pole,
he is now a person of vast importance. He is called Count Abel Larinski,
and he is to marry very soon Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz."

The blood rushed into