most distinguished houses, where he is remembered most kindly.  He was sought everywhere on account of his talents as a musician, which were far more to be relied on than his talent as a gunsmith.  He plays the piano to perfection, and has a very beautiful voice.  Had he employed these talents, he could have made his way to the opera, but his dignity held him back.  Now you know what has been communicated to me by Baron B—–.  On the faith of an honest woman, I have neither added nor omitted anything.

“I am going to astonish you.  Would you believe that I am beginning to be reconciled to Count Larinski?  What shocked me in him is explained and excused by his long residence in America.  He is a mixed breed of Yankee and Pole.  Far from having prejudices against him, I now have them in his favour.  Do you know, I am by no means sure that he cherishes in his heart any serious sentiment for your daughter?  As a man of taste he admires her.  I should like to know who would not admire her!  I suspect Antoinette of allowing her imagination to become excited about nothing.  He talks of her on all occasions in as free and tranquil a fashion as he would talk of a work of art.  I find it impossible to believe that he is in love.  I have in vain watched his green eyes.  I never have seen a suspicious look.

“As I announced to you, he came to Maisons yesterday to dine.  I had invited Abbe Miollens, and Camille had invited himself, promising that he would act like a philosopher; he only half kept his promise:  for I must inform you that my nephew has conceived, I do not know why, an insurmountable antipathy to M. Larinski; he is subject to taking dislikes to people.  During dinner, Abbe Miollens, who is a great linguist and a great traveller, and who has at the ends of his fingers everything concerning Poland and the Poles, led the conversation to the insurrection of 1863.  M. Larinski, at first, refrained from discussing this sad subject; little by little the flood-gates were opened:  he related his adventures or campaigns without boasting, praising others rather than himself; when suddenly his voice grew husky and his eyes dim, he interrupted himself, and begged we would speak of other things.  Fortunately, at this moment, he did not see Camille, whose lips were a sinister smile.  Young Frenchmen have become such sceptics!  I made eyes at the bad boy, and on leaving the table I sent him to smoke a cigar in the park.

“I should confess to you that M. Larinski has made a conquest of Abbe Miollens, who of all men is the most difficult to please, and who disputes with Providence the privilege of fathoming the depths of the human heart.  You are aware that the abbe is a remarkable violinist:  he sent for his instrument; M. Larinski seated himself at the piano, and the two gentlemen played a concert by Mozart—­divine music performed by two angels of the first class.  The conversation that followed charmed me more than the concerto.  I do not know by what fatality we