The principal study of Samuel Brohl was to insinuate himself into the good graces of M. Moriaz, whose mental reservations he dreaded.  He succeeded in some measure, or at least he disarmed any lingering suspicions by the irreproachable adjustment of his manners, by the reserve of his language, by his great show of lack of curiosity regarding all questions that might have a proximate or remote connection with his interests.  How, then, had Mme. de Lorcy come to take it into her head that there was something of the appraiser about Samuel Brohl, and that his eyes took an inventory of her furniture?  If he had forgotten himself at Maisons, he never forgot himself at Cormeilles.  What cared he for the sordid affairs of the sublunary sphere?  He floated in ether; heaven had opened to him its portals; the blessed are too absorbed in their ecstasy to pay heed to details or to take an inventory of paradise.  Nevertheless, Samuel’s ecstasies did not prevent him from embracing every opportunity to render himself useful or agreeable to M. Moriaz.  He frequently asked permission to accompany him into his laboratory.  M. Moriaz flattered himself that he had discovered a new body to which he attributed most curious properties.  Since his return he had been occupied with some very delicate experiments, which he did not always carry out to his satisfaction; his movements were brusque, his hands all thumbs; very often he chanced to ruin everything by breaking his vessels.  Samuel proposed to assist him in a manipulation requiring considerable dexterity; he had very flexible fingers, was as expert as a juggler, and the manipulation succeeded beyond all hopes.

Mme. de Lorcy was furious at having been outwitted by Count Larinski; she retracted all the concessions she had made concerning him; her rancour had decided that the man of fainting-fits could not be other than an imposter.  She had disputes on this subject with M. Langis, who persisted in maintaining that M. Larinski was a great comedian, but that this, strictly considered, did not prevent his being a true count; in the course of his travels he had met specimens of them who cheated at cards and pocketed affronts.  Mme. de Lorcy, in return, accused him of being a simpleton.  She had written again to Vienna, in hopes of obtaining some further intelligence; she had been able to learn nothing satisfactory.  She did not lose courage; she well knew that, in the important affairs of life, M. Moriaz found it difficult to dispense with her approbation, and she promised herself to choose with discretion the moment to make a decisive assault upon him.  In the meanwhile she gave herself the pleasure of tormenting him by her silence, and of grieving him by her long-continued pouting.  One day M. Moriaz said to his daughter: 

“Mme. de Lorcy is displeased with us; this grieves me.  I fear you have dropped some word that has wounded her.  I shall be greatly obliged to you if you will go and see her and coax her into good-humour.”