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Updated: May 12, 2025
Moriaz, her arm resting on the ledge of her window, was meditating on the strange conduct of Count Larinski as she gazed on the stars; the sky was without clouds, unless a little black speck above Mount-Valerien might be so called. Mlle. Moriaz's heart swelled with emotion, and she felt implicit confidence that all would be arranged the next day.
These Counts Larinski have artists' enthusiasm, tender and sensitive hearts, and poetic imaginations; they love everything, and they love nothing; they admire a pretty woman as they admire a beautiful flower, a humming-bird, a picture of Titian's. Did I tell you that the other day, as I was showing him through my park, he almost fainted before my purple beech which assuredly is a marvel?
Moriaz, the daughter of the President of the French Institute, is a thing which might be arranged. But alas! Count Abel Larinski, you are a very poor man. Let me see how long you will be able to stay in Saint Moritz? These hotels in the Upper Engadine are frightfully dear!" The handsome young Polish nobleman opened his purse and looked at the contents rather sadly. It was almost empty.
This was a Larinski with whom she was not yet acquainted, or rather it was Samuel Brohl who had just appeared to her Samuel Brohl, who had entered upon the scene as suddenly as though he had emerged from a magic surprise-box. She could not remove her eyes from him, and he at once perceived the impression he was making on her.
Let your goddaughter marry hers; it will bring a piquant element into her life; the poor world is so generally a prey to ennui." "Thank you! my goddaughter was not born to marry an adventurer. I detest this Larinski, and I have vowed that I will play him some abominable trick!" "Do not become excited, my dear. What colour are his eyes?" "Green as those of the cats or of the owls."
Samuel crossed his hands on his knee; then he continued: "May my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, may my blood cease to flow in my veins, may the marrow dry up in my bones, if ever I forget to be grateful for what I owe to you, Abel Larinski, or cease to remember the forlorn hovel in which we passed the first night of our journey! You were attacked by suffocation.
Suddenly he heard a harsh voice, saying to Mme. de Lorcy: "Where is Count Larinski? Bring him to me; I want to have a discussion with him." He could not do otherwise than comply; he quitted his counsellor with regret, went over and took a seat in the arm-chair that Mme. de Lorcy drew up for him at the side of the princess, and which had for him the effect of a stool of repentance.
Moriaz sends her every week a bouquet costing from ten to twelve francs, which shows, according to my opinion, a lack of common-sense. In the month of January last, she sent for Parma violets for this protege of hers. Now, I appeal to M. Larinski is this reasonable, or is it absurd?" "It is admirably absurd and foolishly admirable," replied the count.
He brought back word that M. Larinski had gone on a walking-excursion through the mountains; that he had started out with the intention of climbing to the summit of Piz-Morteratsch, and of attempting the still more difficult ascent of Piz-Roseg. Mlle. Moriaz found it hard to decide whether this news was good or bad news.
You know that my neighbour, Abbe Miollens, lived a long time in Poland, and has correspondents there. I begged him to get me information concerning the count of course, without explaining anything to him. He reports that Count Abel Larinski is a true count. His father, the confiscation of the property, the emigration to America, the Isthmus of Panama all is true; the history is authentic.
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