A very trifling _fiasco_, but of a highly delicate nature. Two Austrians, an attache and one of his friends at present in Paris, both belonging to extremely aristocratic families, had lately out of wild caprice, and amid much laughter, undertaken to run a foot-race backwards. Several French journals had taken immediate occasion to write articles on this eccentric wager, describing backward races as a traditional and very favourite sport among the youthful aristocrats of Austria. These journalistic rhapsodies had incited Arthur Capriani to arrange a similar race with brilliant accessories, music, torchlight, and a large assemblage of young dandies, and ladies of every description. He lost the race, got a severe contusion on his head, and the next day appeared the article in _Figaro_ which so exasperated the Conte. "If you were only capable of something in the world beside making yourself ridiculous!" Zoe distinctly heard the father's excited voice say, "but you can do nothing else, nothing! And to think of my toiling for you,--making money for you!" "_Mon Dieu!_ you make money because you delight in nothing else," retorted young Capriani. "And for you--for _you_, I am contemplating one of the most brilliant matches in Austria," the Conte fairly shouted, "'tis ridiculous!" "I fancy that Count Truyn agrees with you there," was Arthur's repartee. "Ah, you would, would you?--you dare to sneer at your father?" Capriani burst forth, after the illogical fashion of angry men, "the father to whom you owe everything! I should like to see you begin life as I did, bare-footed, with only one gulden in your pocket!" "What's the use of these recriminations?" drawled the son, "your antecedents mortify me enough without them, and ...." There was a incoherent cry, a savage word ....! The Contessa, very pale, put down her scissors; she trembled violently. "I think it would be better to separate them," Zoe remarked very calmly. "I will try to," gasped Madame Capriani, and opening the door into the next room, she called, "_Mon-ami_, the Baroness Melkweyser is here--I believe she brings you some news ...." "_Il s'agit de votre fameuse affaire, mon cher comte_," Zoe called coaxingly. Her words produced a magical effect; both men made their appearance, the father with a honeyed smile, the son, a short thick-set fellow with handsome features but a rude ill-tempered air, frowning and sullen. "_Bon soir baronne_." "_Bon soir_." "_Eh bien?_" and settling himself in an arm-chair, his legs outstretched, and toying with his double eyeglass in the triumphant attitude with which he was wont to contemplate the favourable development of some particularly clever business transaction, Capriani began, "So you have at last found a favourable opportunity." "No,--no, not at all!" said Zoe, "but I thought best not to leave you in uncertainty any longer, and so I came to you this evening." "You know I gave you no authority to make a direct proposal," said the Conte.