“You will understand in a minute,” said the Princess.  “There’s a story I want to tell you, and I think you will find it interesting.  Fourteen years ago I was passing through a village in Gallicia, and the bad weather forced me to put up at a dirty inn kept by a Jew called Brohl.  This Jew had a son, Samuel, a youngster with strange green eyes and a handsome figure.  Finding that he was an intelligent lad, I paid for him to study at the University, and later on, I kept him as my private secretary.  But about four years ago Samuel Brohl ran off with all my jewellery.”

“You were indeed badly rewarded for your kindness, Madame.” interrupted Antoinette; “but I do not see what Samuel Brohl has to do with my marriage.”

“I was going to tell you,” said the Princess.  “I had the pleasure of meeting him here last night.  He has got on since I lost sight of him.  He is not content with changing from a Jew into a Pole; he is now a great nobleman.  He calls himself Count Abel Larinski, and he is engaged to be married to Mlle. Moriaz.  She is now wearing a Persian bracelet he stole from me.”

“Madame,” cried Antoinette, her cheeks flushing with anger, “will you dare to tell Count Larinski, in my presence, that he is this Samuel Brohl you speak of?”

“I have no desire to do so,” said the Princess.  “Indeed, I want you to promise me never to tell him that it was I who showed him up.  Wait!  I have thought of something.  The middle plate of my Persian bracelet used to open with a secret spring.  Open yours and if you find my name there, well, you will know where it came from.”

“Unless you are willing to repeat in the presence of myself and Count Larinski all that you have just said,” exclaimed Antoinette haughtily, “there is only one thing I can promise you.  I shall certainly never relate to the man to whom I have the honour to be betrothed, a single word of the silly, wicked slanders that you have uttered.”

Princess Gulof rose up brusquely, and stood for a while looking at Antoinette in silence.

“So, you do not believe me,” she said in an ironic tone, blinking her little eyes.  “You are right.  Old women, you know, seldom talk sense.  Samuel Brohl never existed, and I had the pleasure of dining last night with the most authentic of all the Larinskis.  Pardon me, and accept my best wishes for the life-long happiness of the Count and Countess.”

Thereupon she made a mocking curtsey, and turned on her heels and disappeared.

“The woman is absolutely mad,” said Antoinette.  “Abel will be here in a few minutes, and he will tell me what is the matter with her.  I supposed they quarrelled last night about Poland.  Oh dear, what funny old women there are in the world!”

As she was waiting for her lover to appear, Camille Langis came to the house.  Naturally, she was not desirous of talking with her rejected suitor at that moment, and she gave him a rather frigid welcome.