M. Moriaz entered at once into the subject that troubled him.  It was some moments before Abbe Miollens divined whither he was tending.  As soon as he had grasped a ray of light, his face contracted, and uncrossing his limbs, he cried:  “Ah, what a misfortune!  You will have to renounce your delightful dream, my dear Monsieur, and, believe me, no one can be more grieved than I. I fully comprehend with what joy you would have seen your charming daughter consecrate, I will not say her fortune, for you know as well as I how little Count Larinski would care for that, but consecrate, I say, her graces, her beauty, and all the qualities of her angelic character to the happiness of a man of rare merit who has been cruelly scourged by Providence.  She loves him, she is loved by him; Heaven would have blest their union.  Ah, what a misfortune!  I must repeat it, this marriage is impossible; our friend is already married.”

“You are sure of it?” cried M. Moriaz, in a burst of enthusiasm that the good abbe mistook for an access of despair.

“I scarcely can pardon myself for causing you this pain.  You ask if I am sure of it!  I have it from our friend himself.  One evening, apropos of I scarcely remember what, it occurred to me to ask if he were married, and he replied, briefly:  ‘I thought I had told you so.’  Ah! my dear professor, it were needless to discuss whether such a marriage would be a happy one, for it never can take place.”

“Well, now we have something positive,” M. Moriaz hastened to observe, “and there is nothing to do but yield to evidence.”

“Alas! yes,” rejoined the abbe; and, then, after a pause, during which he wore a reflective air, he added, “However—­”

“There is no ‘however,’ M. l’Abbe.  Believe me, your word suffices.”

“But I might possibly have misunderstood.”

“I have entire confidence in your ears—­they are excellent.”

“But pray allow me to observe that it is never worth while to despair too soon.  Do you know what?  Count Larinski came recently to see me without finding me at home.  I owe him a farewell visit.  To-morrow morning, I promise you, I will call on him.”

“For what purpose?” interrupted M. Moriaz.  “I thank you a thousand times for your kindly intentions, but God forbid that I should uselessly interfere with your daily pursuits; your time is too precious!  I declare myself completely edified.  I consider the proof firmly established; there is no further doubt.”

As Madame de Lorcy had remarked, Abbe Miollens was not one to easily relax his hold upon an idea he had once deemed good.  In vain M. Moriaz combated his proposition, bestowing secret maledictions on his excess of zeal; the abbe would not give up, and M. Moriaz was forced to be resigned.  It was agreed that the next day the worthy man should call on Count Larinski, and that from Paris he should repair to Cormeilles, in order to communicate to the proper person the result