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Updated: June 8, 2025
"Ah! truly it is the Princess Gulof," said Mme. de Lorcy to herself, and turned away to avoid an encounter. It was at Ostend, three years previous, during the season of the baths, that she had made the acquaintance of the princess; she did not care to renew it.
"You just remind me that I have, through a letter from Mme. De Lorcy." "Mme de Lorcy, my godmother, would do better to meddle with what concerns her. That woman is incorrigible." "Of what would you have her correct herself?" "Simply of her mania for making my happiness after her own fashion. I read in your eyes that Camille has returned to Paris. What is his object?" "I know nothing about it.
Mme. de Lorcy retraced her steps, cut her way through the crowd, succeeded in approaching the princess, and, taking her by the arm, exclaimed: "Ah! is it you, princess! How is Moufflard?"
"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.
Ay, is it sure that from your standpoint your conscience has no accusations to make you? Is it certain that your heart has not been unfaithful to its mistress? If I may believe a certain rumour that has reached my ear, there took place a most singular scene yesterday at the house of Mme. de Lorcy."
Mme. de Lorcy was strictly on her guard; she hastened to meet her, held out both hands, kissed her on both cheeks, and reproached her, in the most affectionate tone in the world, for the rarity of her visits. Then she presented her to the princess, who said: "Come here, my beauty, that I may look at you; I have been told that you are adorable."
He found him in his cabinet, installed in a cushioned arm-chair embroidered by Mme. de Lorcy, slowly sipping a cup of excellent tea brought him by the missionaries from China. On his left was his violin-box, on his right his beloved Horace, Orelli's edition, Zurich, 1844. Conversation began.
His melancholy would have known no bounds, had he suspected that Camille Langis was still in the world. Camille Langis for two weeks lay between life and death, but the ball had finally been successfully extracted. Mme. de Lorcy hastened to Mons and nursed him like a mother; she had the joy of bringing him back alive to Paris. Care was taken that no mention of the duel should be made to Mlle.
His gaiety was rather feverish somewhat forced studied, and abrupt; but, nevertheless, it was gaiety. Mme. de Lorcy responded to him, Mlle. Moriaz continued silent; she crumpled between her fingers the guipure lace of her Marie-Antoinette fichu, and, with fixed eye, she seemed to be counting the stitches. Samuel Brohl interrupted himself in the midst of a sentence, and rose suddenly.
Without appearing to do so, she made him undergo an examination she asked him many questions; he replied promptly. Visitors came in; it was an hour before he took leave, after having promised Mme. de Lorcy to dine with her the next day. She did not wait until then to write to M. Moriaz. Her letter was thus conceived: "August 16, 1875. "You recommend me to be impartial, my dear friend.
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