“In what affair, madame?” “One of no little consequence; it concerns your marriage.” “You are extremely kind to concern yourself with my marriage; but I do not understand----” “You will understand in a few moments. So you promise me----” “I promise nothing, madame, before I understand.” The princess looked in amazement at Mlle. Moriaz. She had anticipated talking with a dove; she found that the dove had a less accommodating temper and a much stiffer neck than she had believed. She hesitated for a moment whether she would not at once end the interview; she decided, however, to proceed: “I have a story to relate to you,” she continued, in a familiar tone; “listen with attention, I beg of you. I err if in the end you do not find it interesting. Thirteen or fourteen years ago, one of those unlucky chances, common in travelling, obliged me to pass several hours in a miserable little town in Galicia. The inn, or rather the tavern, where I stopped, was very dirty; the tavern-keeper, an ill-looking little German Jew, was still dirtier than his tavern, and he had a son who was in no better condition. I am given to forming illusions about people. In spite of his filth, this youth interested me. His stupid father refused him all instruction, and beat him unmercifully; he appeared intelligent; he made me think of a fresh-water fish condemned to live in a quagmire. He was called Samuel Brohl: remember the name. I pitied him and I saw no other way of saving him than to buy him of his father. This horrid little man demanded an exorbitant price. I assure you his pretensions were absurd. Well, my dear, I was out of cash; I had with me just the money sufficient for the expenses of the rest of the journey; but I wore on my arm a bracelet that had the advantage of pleasing him. It was a Persian trinket, more singular than beautiful. I can see it now; it was formed of three large plates of gold ornamented with grotesque animals, and joined by a filigree network. I valued this bracelet; it had been brought to me from Teheran. By means of a secret spring, one of the plates opened, and I had had engraved inside the most interesting dates of my life, and underneath them my profession of faith, with which you have no concern. Ah! my dear, when one has once been touched by that dangerous passion called philanthropy, one becomes capable of exchanging a Persian bracelet for a Samuel Brohl, and I swear to you that it was a real fool’s bargain that I made. This miserable fellow paid me badly for my kindness to him. I sent him to the university, and later I took him into my service as secretary. He had a black heart. One fine morning, he took to his heels and disappeared.” “That was revolting ingratitude,” interrupted Antoinette, “and your good work, madame, was poorly recompensed; but I do not see what relation Samuel Brohl can have to my marriage.”