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Updated: May 12, 2025
"Certainly most decisive. But, come, let us go quickly," he replied, rising. "I fear that my retorts and crucibles, if they listen to you much longer, will fall into a syncope as prolonged as that of M. Larinski. Was ever such a debate heard of in a chemical laboratory?"
By means of unremitting perseverance, he had succeeded in obtaining the appointment of an official commission to examine it. The commission decided that the Larinski musket possessed certain advantages, but that it had three defects: it was too heavy, the breech became choked too rapidly with oil from the lubricator, and the cost of manufacture was too high. Count Abel did not lose courage.
"To make a show of probability," he interrupted, "suppose you were to place the scene at Montmartre. Frankly, I cannot see what possible connection there can be between the Christ and your Count Larinski; and, pray, do not let us enter into a theological discussion; you know it is wholly out of my line.
Have you sworn that after Alsace we must lose Champagne?" "I am perfectly sure," she replied, mounting on her high horse, "that the Larinski musket is a chef-d'oeuvre, and I would pledge my life that he who invented it is a man of genius."
He looked at his daughter, and said to her: "I beg of you to repeat what you just said to me. I fear I have misunderstood you." She answered in a firmer voice, "I am curious to know what you would think if I should marry, some day or other, Count Larinski." He was startled, thunderstruck.
Moiseney, "that M. Moriaz and the bezique has frightened him away. I would not for worlds speak ill of your father; he has all the good qualities imaginable, except a certain delicacy of sentiment, which is not to be learned in dealing with acids. Think of condemning a Count Larinski to play bezique! There are some things that your father does not and never will understand."
To his great joy, his shout was answered, and Count Larinski climbed up the other side of the gorge, carrying a plank, torn from a fence he passed on his way. By means of this, he bridged the gorge, and rescued the father of Antoinette, and naturally, he had to accompany him to the hotel, and stay to dinner.
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.
"I am not a very bloodthirsty individual, but I would take a singular delight in slashing at the skin of this gloomy personage." Mme. de Lorcy shrugged her shoulders. "What makes you think him gloomy, my dear? You are perfectly reasonable. You ought to adore M. Larinski; you are under the greatest obligations to him.
Countess Larinski was a saint. Concerning the son, nothing is known; he must have been three or four years old when he landed in New York. No one ever saw him; no one seems to know anything about his taking part in the insurrection of 1863. Having spoken the truth about his parents, it is to be presumed that he told the truth about himself.
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