Mlle. Moiseney started; she had been far from suspecting that Count Larinski had specially impressed Mlle. Moriaz, and, as on certain occasions her mind worked rapidly, she understood immediately all the consequences of this prodigious event. There was a cloud before her eyes, and in this cloud she beheld all manner of things, both pleasing and displeasing to her; her mouth open, she strove to clear her ideas. She said to herself: “It is an imprudent act; not only that, it cannot be;” but she also said: “Mlle. Antoinette can no more make a mistake than the Queen of England can; because she wishes it, she is right in wishing it.” Mlle. Moiseney ended by regaining her self-possession; her lips formed the most pleasant smile, as she exclaimed: “He has no fortune, but he has a beautiful name. Mme. la Comtesse Larinski! it sounds well to the ear.” “Like music; I grant, it is perfect,” rejoined M. Moriaz. “Unfortunately, music is not everything in the affairs of this world.” She was not listening to him. Full of her own idea, without taking time to breathe: “You jest, monsieur,” she continued, with extraordinary volubility. “Believe me or not, I have foreseen this marriage for some time. I have presentiments that never deceive me. I was sure that it would be thus. What a handsome couple! Fancy them driving in an open carriage through the park, or entering a proscenium-box at the opera! They will make a sensation. And truly, without boasting, I think I may call your attention to the fact that I have been of some account in the affair. The first time I saw Count Larinski, you know, at the _table d’hote_ in Bergun, I recognised at once that he was beyond comparison--” “By-the-way, he ate trout?” interrupted M. Moriaz; “it does honour to your discernment.” “You had better ask Antoinette,” replied she, “if that very evening I did not praise the handsome stranger. She maintained that he stooped, and that his head was badly poised; would you believe it?--his head badly poised! Ah! I was sure it would end so. Do you wish to prove my discernment? Shall I tell you where your letter comes from that contains such excellent news? The count wrote it; he has at last proposed. I guessed it at once. Ah! monsieur, I sympathize in your joy. He is, indeed, the son-in-law that I have dreamed of for you. A superior man, so open-hearted, so unaffected and frank!” “Do you really think so?” asked M. Moriaz, fanning himself with the letter. “He related to us his whole life,” rejoined she, in a pedantic tone. “How many people could do as much?” “A delightful narration. I only regret that he was silent concerning one detail which was of a nature to interest us.” “An unpleasant detail?” she asked, raising her gooseberry-coloured eyes to him.