ing life."

"Oh, I was sure from the first, perfectly sure, that this man had a
large heart and a noble soul. I read physiognomies very correctly, and
I never need to see people twice to know how far they can be relied on."
After a pause she added, "I wonder if I dare tell you, my dear, of an
idea that has occurred to me?"

"Tell me, by all means. Your ideas sometimes amuse me."

"Might it not turn out that the author of a certain note, and sender of
a certain thing, was M. le Comte Abel Larinski?"

"Why he rather than any other?" queried Antoinette. "I believe you do
him wrong: he appears to be a gentleman, and gentlemen do not write
anonymous letters."

"Oh! that was a very innocent one, and you may be sure that he wrote it
in perfect good faith."

"You believe, then, mademoiselle, that in good faith a man about to
put a halter about his neck would renounce his project because he had
encountered Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz on a public highway?"

"Why not?" cried Mlle. Moiseney, looking at her with eyes wide open with
admiration. "Besides, you know the Poles are a hot-headed people, whose
hearts are open to all noble enthusiasms. One could pardon in Count
Larinski what could not be overlooked in a Parisian."

"I will pardon him on condition that he will keep his promise and never
make himself known to me, for this is unquestionably the first duty of a
mysterious unknown. Just now he refused to let my father present him
to me, which is a good mark in his favour. If he alters his mind,
he becomes at once a condemned man. I pity you, my dear Joan," added
Antoinette, laughingly. "You are dying with longing to hear one of those
romances without words, which M. Larinski plays so divinely; and if M.
Larinski be the man of the letter, his own avowal prohibits him from
appearing before me again. How can you extricate yourself from this
dilemma? The case is embarrassing."

It was M. Moriaz who undertook the solution of this embarrassing
dilemma. Three days later, some moments before dinner, he was walking in
the hotel-grounds, smoking a cigar. He saw passing along the road Count
Abel, on his way back to Cellarina. A storm was coming up; already great
drops of rain were beginning to fall. M. Moriaz ran after the count and
seized him by the button, saying: "You have saved my life--permit me, at
least, to save you from the rain. Do me the honour to share our dinner;
we will have it served in my apartment."

Abel strongly re