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Updated: June 8, 2025
At the time when Samuel Brohl, seated amid the heather, in an oak-grove, was conversing with phantoms, Mme. de Lorcy, alone in her salon, was occupied with her needlework, and her thoughts, which revolved in a circle, like a horse in a riding-school.
Mme. de Lorcy moved to and fro, when suddenly she descried a little old woman, sixty years of age, with a snub nose, whose little gray eyes gleamed with malice and impertinence. Her chin in the air, holding up her eye-glasses with her hand, she scrutinized all the pictures with a critical, disdainful air.
"Your visit distresses me, my dear count," said Mme. de Lorcy to him; "I fear it is the last. Have you come to bid us farewell?" "Alas! yes, madame," he replied. "The letter for which I have been waiting has not yet arrived; but this delay will not alter my plans: in three days I shall leave Paris." "Without a desire to return, without regret?" she asked.
Moriaz greatly resembled a certain person who had played a certain role in a certain adventure that she undertook to narrate. She had scarcely finished this recital when she entered on another. Mme. de Lorcy was on thorns. She knew by experience that the anecdotes of Princess Gulof were ordinarily somewhat indelicate and ill-suited to maiden ears.
Mme. de Lorcy moved away, and he was left tete-a-tete with Princess Gulof, who said to him, "I have been told that congratulations are due to you, and I must make them at once although we are enemies."
"Adieu, my dear monsieur. Give my tender love to my amiable goddaughter. I rely on you to read my letters to her with care and discretion. Little girls should have only a part of the truth." Eight days afterward Mme. de Lorcy wrote a third letter, which was thus expressed: "August 27th. "I am more and more content with M. Larinski. I blame myself for the suspicions with which he inspired me.
Samuel looked at him with an astonished, confused air, as he had viewed Mme. de Lorcy when she undertook to speak to him of the Countess Larinski. "What do you mean?" he finally asked. "Why, did you not confide to me yourself that you were married?"
How, then, had Mme. de Lorcy come to take it into her head that there was something of the appraiser about Samuel Brohl, and that his eyes took an inventory of her furniture? If he had forgotten himself at Maisons, he never forgot himself at Cormeilles. What cared he for the sordid affairs of the sublunary sphere?
Mme. de Lorcy coughed anew, and the princess ended by losing patience, and, brusquely interrupting herself, exclaimed: "And this, that, and the other, etc. Thus ended the adventure." Mlle.
He turned towards Antoinette; in a hollow voice he begged her to tell M. Moriaz how much he regretted that his early departure would deprive him of the honour and pleasure of visiting him at Cormeilles; then he bowed to Mme. de Lorcy, thanked her for the happy moments that he had spent with her, and charged her to commend him to the kind remembrance of Abbe Miollens.
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