"A betrothed lover cannot tolerate any aspersion cast upon the fair sex," said Georges. "_Qu'a cela ne tienne_," rejoined Sempaly, "the betrothed of Gabrielle Truyn ought to be above such sensitiveness. Gabrielle comes from the corner of the earth, which Love Divine sheltered beneath angels' wings, when the devil showered his poison over all creation. Happy he who meets with such a girl!" "You do not know her," said Truyn, whose eyes, nevertheless, sparkled with gratified paternal pride. "I knew her as a child," said Sempaly slowly, "and I know who completed her education." For a moment they were all silent, and then Truyn began, "I must tell you a delicious bit of gossip, Sempaly;--only fancy, in the spring, in Paris, Capriani, one fine day, sent that goose, Zoe Melkweyser, to sue for Gabrielle's hand! What do you think of that?" "Incredible!" exclaimed Sempaly. "Was it not?" said Truyn, who took special delight in recounting this tale, and turning to Oswald, he went on, "Our Gabrielle and a son of Capriani,--was there ever such a joke?" But Oswald was silent. "You seem inclined to take your rival extremely tragically," rallied Pistasch. "This is the tenth time, at least, that I have heard the story," said Oswald angrily. "You'll have an irritable son-in-law, Truyn, at all events," interposed Sempaly with a sneer. At this moment Pistasch, whose rage for popularity was always on the alert, called out over the heads of Sempaly and Truyn, "Good evening," to a tall, red-haired young man who had slowly made his way to the front of the pit. With delight in his eyes and a succession of nods, the red-head acknowledged the greeting. "Who is that?" asked Georges. "The surveyor's clerk who assisted at the polls to-day--an old acquaintance of mine," said Pistasch. Oswald's glance fell upon the red-head. He had recognised in the man at the polls the same whom he had struck in the face with his riding-whip, in the dingy little inn-parlour. The encounter in the morning had made no impression upon him, but now.... "Good Heavens, how ill you look!" exclaimed Truyn. "I feel wretchedly," said Oswald in a forced voice, putting his hand to his head, "do not let me disturb you, I will go home." "You make me anxious, my boy," said Truyn, "wait a moment, and I will go with you." "No, no, pray uncle, it is really not worth the trouble, I can easily find a fiacre," remonstrated Oswald, in a strained unnatural voice. But Truyn, always anxious about those dear to him, could not be deterred and the two left the box together. "What is the matter with Lodrin to-night?" asked Sempaly as he took Truyn's seat. "I could not understand him. Eight years ago, when I saw him last, in Vienna, he was such a bright, merry fellow...." "Well--" and Pistasch drew a long breath, "he is just beginning to suffer from the Phylloxera."