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Thus reasoned M. Moriaz, whom paternal misadventures and recent experiences had rendered a better psychologist than he ever had been. While busied with his reflections the carriage drove rapidly onward, and thirty-five minutes sufficed to reach the little maison de campagne occupied by Abbe Miollens.
Forgive me all my errors, my suspicions, my childish absurdities." Mlle. Moriaz concluded that it would be well to shorten the term of waiting, and that she would ask Count Larinski to fix the date of their marriage himself. As to the contract, she had immediate occasion to speak of it to her father, who announced to her that he had invited his notary, Maitre Noirot, to dine with him the next day.
For Count Abel Larinski now always followed M. Moriaz, and watched over him like a guardian angel. "Oh, if he would only fall down one of the rocks he is always hammering at, and break a leg, or even sprain an ankle!" said the gallant Polish nobleman. "Wouldn't that be a lucky accident for me!" All things, it is said, come to those who know how to wait.
He resumed his gravity to reply to a question of M. Moriaz concerning Poland. "Unhappy Poland!" cried he. "To-day the Jew is its master. Active, adroit, inventive, little scrupulous, he makes capital out of our indolence and our improvidence.
In reading the fourth letter of Mme. de Lorcy, M. Moriaz experienced a feeling of satisfaction and deliverance, over which he was not master. His daughter had gone to pay a visit in the neighbourhood, and he was alone with Mlle. Moiseney, who said to him, "You have received good news, monsieur?"
He raised his head; he saw Antoinette; he looked wildly at her, as though he did not recognise her. He recognised her at last, made a gesture of alarm, rose precipitately, and fled. Mlle. Moriaz drew near Mme. de Lorcy, and said to her, "Well, what do you think of it?" "I think, my dear," she replied, "that Mme. de Lorcy is a fool, and that Count Larinski is a powerful man."
M. Moriaz was obliged to confess to himself that Count Larinski was as good company at Cormeilles as he had been at Saint Moritz, and had no other fault than having taken it into his head to become his son-in-law. Their interview was a prolonged one.
Three days ago I arrived in Paris and flew to Maisons-Lafitte. Mme. De Lorcy, who bears the double insignia of honour of being my aunt and the godmother of Antoinette I beg your pardon, I mean Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz informed me that you were in ill-health, and that your physician had sent you to Switzerland, to Saint Moritz, to recruit.
Then he cried: "It is I she will marry she will be the Countess Larinski." Suddenly the door opened again, and Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz appeared, robed in white like a bride, a crown on her head, a bouquet in her hand. She bent her steps towards Samuel, but the apparition arrested her progress, saying: "It is not he whom you love; it is my history. Do you not see that this is a false Pole?
Abel Larinski recited these lines with a purity of accent that would have astonished M. Moses Guldenthal. M. Moriaz, after wishing his daughter good-night, and imprinting a kiss upon her brow, as was his custom, had retired to his chamber. He was preparing for bed, when there came a knock at his door.
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