who, after having looked at it, passed it over to his daughter.
The medallion contained the portrait of a woman with blond hair,
blue eyes, a refined, lovely mouth, a fragile, delicate being with
countenance at the same time sweet and sad, the face of an angel, but an
angel who had lived and suffered.

"What an exquisite face!" cried Mlle. Moriaz.

Truly it was exquisite. Some one has asserted that a Polish woman is
like punch made with holy-water. One may like neither the punch nor the
holy-water, and yet be very fond of Polish women. They form one of the
best chapters in the great book of the Creator.

"It is the portrait of my mother," said Count Larinski.

"Are you so fortunate as to still possess her?" asked Antoinette.

"She was a tender flower," he replied; "and tender flowers never live
long."

"Her portrait shows it plainly; one can see that she suffered much, but
was resigned to live."

For the first time the count departed from the reserve he had shown
towards Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz. "I have no words to tell you," he
exclaimed, "how happy I am that my mother pleases you!"

Othello was accused of having employed secret philters to win
Desdemona's love. Brabantio had only himself to blame; he had taken a
liking to Othello, and often invited him to come to him; he did not
make him play _bezique_, but he questioned him on his past. The Moor
recounted his life, his sufferings, his adventures, and Desdemona
wept. The fathers question, the heroes or adventurers recount, and the
daughters weep. Such are the outlines of a history as old as the world.
Abel Larinski had left the card-table. He had taken his seat in an
arm-chair, facing Mlle. Moiseney. He was questioned; he replied.

His destiny had been neither light nor easy. He was quite young when
his father, Count Witold Larinski, implicated in a conspiracy, had been
compelled to flee from Warsaw. His property was confiscated, but luckily
he had some investments away from home, which prevented him from being
left wholly penniless. He was a man of projects. He emigrated to America
with his wife and his son; he dreamed of making a name and a fortune
by cutting a canal through the Isthmus of Panama. He repaired to New
Granada, there to make his studies and his charts. He made them so
thoroughly that he died of yellow fever before having begun his work,
having come to the end of his money and leaving his widow in the most
cruel destitution. Countess Larinski