was not of
the place, and who could not be found. Antoinette examined the
hotel-register; she did not see there the handwriting of the letter. She
studied the faces which surrounded her; there was not in Hotel Badrutt a
single romantic-looking person. Very speedily she renounced her search.
The bouquet pleased her; she kept it as a present fallen from the skies,
and preserved the letter as a curiosity, without long troubling herself
to know who had written it. "Do not let us talk about it any more, it is
doubtless some lunatic," she replied one day to Mlle. Moiseney, who kept
constantly recurring to the incident whose mystery she burned to fathom.
The good demoiselle had been tempted to stop people in the road to ask,
"Was it you?" Perchance she might have suspected her Bergun unknown to
have a hand in the affair, had she had the least idea that he was at
Saint Moritz, where she never had met him. He came there, nevertheless,
every day, but at his own time; besides, the hotels were full to
overflowing, and it was very easy to lose one's self in the crowd.

To tell the truth, when Count Abel Larinski came to Saint Moritz he
was far less occupied with Mlle. Moriaz than with a certain illustrious
chemist. The air of the Engadine and the waters that tasted like ink had
worked marvels: in a week M. Moriaz felt like a new man. There had come
to him a most formidable appetite, and he could walk for hours at a time
without becoming weary. He abused his growing strength by constantly
strolling through the mountains without a guide, hammer in hand; and
every day, in spite of the remonstrances of his daughter, he increased
the length of his excursions. The more people know, the more inquisitive
they become; and, when one is inquisitive, one can go to great lengths
without feeling fatigue; one only becomes conscious of this after the
exertion is over. M. Moriaz never for a moment suspected that he was
accompanied, at a respectful distance, on these solitary expeditions, by
a stranger, who, with eyes and ears both on the alert, watched over him
like a providence. The most peculiar part of the affair was that this
providence would gladly have caused him to take a misstep, or thrust him
into some quagmire, in order to have the pleasure of drawing him out,
and bearing him in his arms to the Hotel Badrutt. "If only he could fall
into a hole and break his leg!" Such was the daily wish of Count Abel
Larinski; but _savants_ have great lice