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Updated: May 31, 2025
This arrant rogue was only a petty knave that any one could dupe. Abel Larinski transported himself, in thought, to the tavern in which Samuel Brohl had spent his first youth, and which was as familiar to him as though he had lived there himself.
Moriaz thus held communion with her crucifix, Samuel Brohl was rolling along the great highway from Cormeilles to Argenteuil, a distance of six kilometres. His head was held erect, his face was radiant, his eyes were like balls of fire, his temples throbbed, and it seemed to him that his dilated chest might have held the world.
For it was now four years since Samuel Brohl had entered into his strange partnership with the Polish nobleman. Brohl himself was the son of a Jewish tavern-keeper in Gallicia. A great Russian lady, Princess Gulof, attracted by his handsome presence, and strange green eyes, had engaged him as her secretary and educated him.
Samuel Brohl had the surprise of receiving at the same time another letter, thus worded: "MY DEAR COUNT: I cannot explain to myself your conduct; you no longer give me any signs of life. I believed that I had some claims upon you, and that you would hasten to announce to me in person the great event of events, and seek my congratulations.
His eyes betrayed at intervals the secret of some heroic grief that he had sworn to repress before men, and to confess to God alone. He sat down with his guest, and they began to talk; but the abbe directed the conversation into topics of the greatest indifference. Samuel Brohl listened to him and replied with a melancholy grace. Lively as was his curiosity he well knew how to hold it in check.
The abbe knit his brows, his countenance assumed an expression of chagrin and disapproval. He was about delivering to his dear count a sermon on the immorality and positive danger of free unions, but Samuel Brohl gave him no time. "I am not going to Vienna to rejoin my mistress," he interposed. "She never leaves me, she accompanies me everywhere; she is here."
It was Samuel Brohl who had come to Cormeilles, and who was seated, at this moment, in the midst of a grove of oaks. Perhaps the lark that he had heard singing a quarter of an hour before had recognised him, for it had ceased singing. The peacock continued its screaming, and its doleful cries sounded like a warning.
In return for the hospitality he had received New Year's Eve was spent at Herr von Swerte's. The whole Haber family, with Frau Brohl and Frau Marker the white grandmamma and the brown grandmamma, as Willy called them, to distinguish them from one another drove over in the afternoon to Ronneburg by way of Harburg, but Wilhelm could not be prevailed upon to accompany them.
He also dreamed, poor fool, that there was in Samuel Brohl's mind or bosom an immortal soul, and that in this soul there was music, but that he could not hear it because the muddy vesture of decay too grossly closed it in. Then he experienced a feeling of disgust for Galicia, for the tavern, for the tavern-keeper, and for Samuel Brohl himself.
Moriaz did not belong to Samuel Brohl, but she never would belong to Camille Langis. Near the Franco-Belgian frontier, on the verge of a forest, a man had been shot in the breast; Samuel Brohl had seen him fall; and some one had cried, "He is dead!"
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