“What advice would you have me give you before having seen M. Larinski—­before having taken the measure of this hero?”

“What! you expect to see him?”

“I am waiting for him to call, and I am sorry he keeps me waiting.”

“Seriously, will you receive this man?”

“I have been asked to examine him.”

“I am lost, if you feel the need of hearing before condemning him.  Our most sacred duty is to be resolutely unjust towards the enemies of our friends.”

“Nonsense!  I shall not be indulgent towards him.”

“Do as you like; I have my plan.”

“What is it?”

“I shall seek some groundless quarrel with this contraband, this poacher, and I will blow his brains out.”

“A fine scheme, my dear Camille!  And afterward, when you have killed him, you will have gained a great deal.  Have you confidence in me?  I have already begun to work for you.  The Abbe Miollens, as you know, is well acquainted in the society of Polish emigrants; I have sent to him for information.  I have also written to Vienna for intelligence concerning him.  Antoinette is foolish in forming such an acquaintance, it must be admitted; but, in matters of honour, she is as delicate as an ermine in tending the whiteness of her robe; if there be in M. Larinski’s past a stain no larger than a ten-sou piece, she will forever discard him.  Let me act; be wise, do not blow out any one’s brains. Grand Dieu! what would become of us, if the only way to get rid of people was by killing them?”

As she pronounced these words a servant entered, bearing a card on a silver salver.  She took the card and exclaimed:  “When you speak of the wolf—­Here is our man!” She begged M. Langis to retire; he implored permission to remain, promising to be a model of discretion.  She was insisting on his leaving when Count Abel Larinski appeared.

Samuel Brohl had scarcely taken three steps in Mme. de Lorcy’s salon before he conjectured why M. Moriaz had asked him to go there, and what was the significance of the commission with which he was charged.  Notwithstanding the salon had a southern exposure, and that it was then the middle of the month of August, it seemed to him to be cold there.  He thought that he felt a draught of chilly air, an icy wind, which pierced him through and through, and caused him an unpleasant shiver.  He did not need to look very attentively at Mme. de Lorcy to be convinced that he was before his judge, and that this judge was not a friendly one; and, as soon as his gaze met that of M. Camille Langis, something warned him that this young man was his enemy.  Samuel Brohl had the gift of observation.

He delivered his message, and handed Mme. de Lorcy the little portfolio that contained Mlle. Moriaz’s painting, expressing his regret that business had prevented his coming sooner.  Mme. de Lorcy thanked him for his kindness, with rather a cool politeness, and asked him for news of her goddaughter.  He did not expatiate on this topic.