“A most excellent idea that,” sighed M. Moriaz. “Unfortunately, you represented to him that it took but two hours to go from Paris to Cormeilles.” “I had trouble to persuade him of it.” “Well, since the matter stands thus, nothing is yet lost. You know, my dear, that my physician advised me to beware of abrupt transitions, and not to change too suddenly from the keen air of Engadine to the heavy atmosphere of the plains. On leaving Saint Moritz, we will descend five hundred metres lower, and remain three weeks at Churwalden; consequently, we will not be in Paris for a month. You will employ this month in somewhat calming your imagination. It is very easy for it to become excited in these mountain-holes, without taking into account the wearisomeness of hotel-life. From the very day after our arrival you took a dislike to the paper in our little _salon_, and its squares, I confess, are very ugly. In every square, a thrush stretching out its neck to peck a currant. Two hundred thrushes and two hundred currants--it was enough to weary you to death. Suddenly there appears a Pole--” “The thrushes had nothing to do with it,” she replied, smiling. “A month hence I shall say as I do to-day. ‘It is either he or no one.’ And you shall choose.” “Do not repeat that formula, I beg. Fixed resolves are the prison-house of the will. Promise me to reflect; reflection is an excellent thing. One thing more--grant me in advance what I am going to ask you.” “It is granted.” “You have a godmother--” “Ah! now we are coming to the point,” she added. “You cannot deny that Mme. De Lorcy is a woman of the world, a woman of good sense, a woman of experience, who is deeply interested in your welfare--” “And who has decided from time immemorial, that I can only be happy on condition that I marry her nephew, M. Camille Langis.” “Well, I admit that she is partial. That is no reason why we should not send her our Pole. She will inspect him, she will tell us her opinion; it will be a new element in the argument.” “Ah! I know her opinion without asking it. This woman of experience and good sense is incapable of recognising merit in a man who is sufficiently impertinent to make Mlle. Moriaz love him, without having at least fifty thousand livres a year to offer her.” “What does that matter? We will let her speak--we need not question her, an oracle; but she knows false jewellery. If she discover--” “I would require proofs,” she interrupted, quickly. “And if she furnish them?” She was silent an instant, then she said: “Let it be so; do as you please.” With these words they ended the conversation; then arose, and retook the road to Saint Moritz. M. Moriaz scarcely had reached there, when he entered a carriage to drive to Cellarina, provided with a portfolio given him by Antoinette. He found M. Larinski busy strapping his trunks, and waiting for the mail-coach that made the journey between Samaden and Chur by the Col du Julier.