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Updated: May 26, 2025
"The harm done is not very great," he replied; and he began diligently brushing up the fragments of the vial. It was his way of gaining time, but he did it so awkwardly that she snatched the brush from his hands: "This is the way to sweep," said she. He watched her, saying to himself: "This is the reverse of the scene at Churwalden.
In a few days you will start for Churwalden, and you will say to this angry woman, 'I have lied I love you. In short, you will talk to her of your amorous flame; and you may, freely, under these circumstances, exhaust all your treasure-store of hyperbole. She will listen to you, I can promise you, and she will say to herself, 'I seek vengeance here it is."
"My dear friend, I am enchanted to know that the water of Saint Moritz and the air of the Engadine have entirely re-established your health; but do not be imprudent. Half-cures are fatal. Be careful not to leave Churwalden too soon, for the descent into the heavy atmosphere of the plains.
He has been the first to succeed in touching the heart of our dear, hitherto insensible girl; he has broken the charm. She was the Sleeping Beauty; he has awakened her, and, through the favour of Heaven, he cannot marry her. I can see her in Churwalden, a prey to the gloomiest ennui, weeping over her illusions, furious at having been deceived.
He had the audacity to assert to me that I was a good woman, but very credulous, which in my estimation is not very polite. He no longer acts as a nephew, and respect is dead." Ten days later M. Moriaz received at Churwalden a fourth and last letter: "September 6th. "Decidedly my dear friend, Count Larinski is a delightful man, and I never will pardon myself for having judged ill of him.
"I would like to believe you, madame," he replied, "but are you very certain that Mlle. Moriaz is still at Churwalden?" And, pointing with his finger, he showed her at the end of the avenue a figure coming towards them clad in a pretty nut-brown dress with a long train sweeping the gravel. "Truly, I believe that it is she," cried Mme. de Lorcy.
For three weeks his daughter had been a mystery to him. She never once had pronounced the name of Count Larinski. Churwalden pleased her as much as Saint Moritz; apparently, she was gay, tranquil, perfectly happy. Had her delusion passed away? Had she changed her mind?
You know, my dear, that my physician advised me to beware of abrupt transitions, and not to change too suddenly from the keen air of Engadine to the heavy atmosphere of the plains. On leaving Saint Moritz, we will descend five hundred metres lower, and remain three weeks at Churwalden; consequently, we will not be in Paris for a month.
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