It was agreed that the marriage should take place during the winter, and that two months should be allowed to elapse before proceeding to the preliminary formalities.  M. Moriaz undertook to explain matters to Samuel Brohl, who found the arrangement little to his taste.  He took pains, however, to give no signs of this.  He told M. Moriaz that he was still in the first bewildering surprise of his happiness, that he was not sorry to have time to recover from it; but he secretly promised himself to devise some artifice for abridging delays, for hastening the denoument.  He was apprehensive of accidents, unforeseen occurrences, squalls, storms, tornadoes, sudden blights, in short everything that might damage or destroy a harvest; he impatiently longed to gather in his, and to have it carefully stowed away in his granary.  In the interim he wrote to his old friend M. Guldenthal a letter at once majestic and confidential, which produced a most striking effect.  M. Guldenthal concluded that a good marriage was much better security than a poor gun.  Besides, he had had the agreeable surprise of being completely reimbursed for his loan, capital and interest.  He was charmed to have so excellent a debtor return to him, and he hastened to advance to him all that he could possibly want, even more.

A month passed peaceably by, during which time Samuel Brohl repaired two or three times each week to Cormeilles.  He made himself adored by the entire household, including the gardener, the porter and his family, and the Angora cat that had welcomed him at the time of his first visit.  This pretty, soft white puss had conceived for Samuel Brohl a most deplorable sympathy; perhaps she had recognised that he possessed the soul of a cat, together with all the feline graces.  She lavished on him the most flattering attentions; she loved to rub coaxingly against him, to spring on his knee, to repose in his lap.  In retaliation, the great, tawny spaniel belonging to Mlle. Moriaz treated the newcomer with the utmost severity and was continually looking askance at him; when Samuel attempted a caress, he would growl ominously and show his teeth, which called forth numerous stern corrections from his mistress.  Dogs are born gendarmes or police agents; they have marvellous powers of divination and instinctive hatred of people whose social status is not orthodox, whose credentials are irregular, or who have borrowed the credentials of others.  As to Mlle. Moiseney, who had not the scent of a spaniel, she had gone distracted over this noble, this heroic, this incomparable Count Larinski.  In a tete-a-tete he had contrived to have with her, he had evinced much respect for her character, so much admiration for her natural and acquired enlightenment, that she had been moved to tears; for the first time she felt herself understood.  What moved her, however, still more was that he asked her as a favour never to quit Mlle. Moriaz and to consider as her own the house he hoped one day to possess.  “What a man!” she ejaculated, with as much conviction as Mlle. Galet.