“I do not doubt it for an instant,” replied M. Moriaz, taking the book from the hands of Abbe Miollens and placing it respectfully on the table. “Luckily, our friend Larinski, as you call him, fell upon the excellent idea of resuscitating himself some thirty years ago, which procured for us the great joy of meeting him at Saint Moritz; and while we are on the subject--My dear abbe, have you a free, impartial mind? Can you listen to me? I have a question to propound, an elucidation to demand. It is not only the friend to whom I address myself, it is the confessor, the director of consciences, the man of the whole universe in whose discretion I place most reliance.” “I am all ears,” responded the abbe, crossing the shapely legs in which he took no little pride. M. Moriaz entered at once into the subject that troubled him. It was some moments before Abbe Miollens divined whither he was tending. As soon as he had grasped a ray of light, his face contracted, and uncrossing his limbs, he cried: “Ah, what a misfortune! You will have to renounce your delightful dream, my dear Monsieur, and, believe me, no one can be more grieved than I. I fully comprehend with what joy you would have seen your charming daughter consecrate, I will not say her fortune, for you know as well as I how little Count Larinski would care for that, but consecrate, I say, her graces, her beauty, and all the qualities of her angelic character to the happiness of a man of rare merit who has been cruelly scourged by Providence. She loves him, she is loved by him; Heaven would have blest their union. Ah, what a misfortune! I must repeat it, this marriage is impossible; our friend is already married.” “You are sure of it?” cried M. Moriaz, in a burst of enthusiasm that the good abbe mistook for an access of despair. “I scarcely can pardon myself for causing you this pain. You ask if I am sure of it! I have it from our friend himself. One evening, apropos of I scarcely remember what, it occurred to me to ask if he were married, and he replied, briefly: ‘I thought I had told you so.’ Ah! my dear professor, it were needless to discuss whether such a marriage would be a happy one, for it never can take place.” “Well, now we have something positive,” M. Moriaz hastened to observe, “and there is nothing to do but yield to evidence.” “Alas! yes,” rejoined the abbe; and, then, after a pause, during which he wore a reflective air, he added, “However--” “There is no ‘however,’ M. l’Abbe. Believe me, your word suffices.” “But I might possibly have misunderstood.” “I have entire confidence in your ears--they are excellent.” “But pray allow me to observe that it is never worth while to despair too soon. Do you know what? Count Larinski came recently to see me without finding me at home. I owe him a farewell visit. To-morrow morning, I promise you, I will call on him.”