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Updated: May 16, 2025
But how can it be helped? Poles are fickle more fools they who trust them." "It may be simply that M. Larinski has been ill," interrupted Antoinette, with perfect tranquility. "I think, father, that it would be right for us to make inquiries." The following day M. Moriaz went to Cellarina.
Half an hour later he turned from the highway into a foot-path which led through green pastures and forests of larch-trees. By the time he had reached the heart of the valley it was nightfall. He traversed the hamlet of Cresta, crossed a bridge, found himself at the entrance of the village of Cellarina, about twenty-five minutes' walk form Saint Moritz.
Before dinner he made the tour of all the hotels in Saint Moritz without discovering where M. Larinski lodged. He learned it in the evening from a peasant who came over from Cellarina for the overcoat. The good Mlle. Moiseney was quite taken with Count Abel; first, because he was handsome, and then because he played the piano bewitchingly.
"And if she furnish them?" She was silent an instant, then she said: "Let it be so; do as you please." With these words they ended the conversation; then arose, and retook the road to Saint Moritz. M. Moriaz scarcely had reached there, when he entered a carriage to drive to Cellarina, provided with a portfolio given him by Antoinette.
Her day had come; her heart was no longer free: the bird had allowed itself to be caught. Mlle. Moiseney said to her one evening: "It seems certain to me that we never shall see Count Larinski again." She replied in an almost indifferent tone, "No doubt he has found people at Cellarina, or elsewhere, who are more entertaining than we." "You mean to say," said Mlle.
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.
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