of his mission.  M. Moriaz perceived the advantage of having Antoinette learn from the abbe’s own lips the fatal truth; and he did not leave without impressing upon him to be very circumspect, as prudent as a serpent, as discreet as a father confessor.  He started for home with quite a contented mind, seeing the future lie smoothly and pleasantly before him, and it really seemed to him that the drive from Maisons to Cormeilles was a much shorter and more agreeable one than that from Cormeilles to Maisons.

Samuel Brohl was seated before an empty trunk, which he was apparently about to pack, when he heard some one knock at his door.  He went to open it and found himself face to face with Abbe Miollens.  From the moment of their first meeting, Samuel Brohl had conceived for the abbe that warm sympathy, that strong liking, with which he was always inspired by people in whom he believed he recognised useful animals who might be of advantage to him, whom he considered destined to render him some essential service.  He seldom mistook; he was a admirable diagnostician; he recognised at first sight the divine impress of predestination.  He gave the most cordial reception to his reverend friend, and ushered him into his modest quarters with all the more empressement, because he detected at once the mysterious, rather agitated air he wore.  “Does he come in the quality of a diplomatic agent, charged with some mission extraordinary?” he asked himself.  On his side the abbe studied Samuel Brohl without seeming to do so.  He was struck with his physiognomy, which expressed at this moment a manly yet sorrowful pride.  His eyes betrayed at intervals the secret of some heroic grief that he had sworn to repress before men, and to confess to God alone.

He sat down with his guest, and they began to talk; but the abbe directed the conversation into topics of the greatest indifference.  Samuel Brohl listened to him and replied with a melancholy grace.  Lively as was his curiosity he well knew how to hold it in check.  Samuel Brohl never had been in a hurry; during the month that had elapsed he had proved that he knew how to wait—­a faculty lacking in more diplomates than one.

Abbe Miollens’s call had lasted during the usual time allotted to a polite visit, and the worthy man seemed about to depart, when, pointing with his forefinger to the open valise, he remarked:  “I see here preparations that grieve me.  I did dream, my dear count, of inviting you to Maisons.  I have a spare chamber there which I might offer to you. Hoc erat in votis, I should indeed have been happy to have had you for a guest.  We should have chatted and made music to our hearts’ content, close by a window opening on a garden.  ’Hae latebrae dulces, etiam, si credis, amoenae.’  But, alas! you are going to leave us; you do not care for the friendship accorded you here.  Has Vienna such superior attractions for you?  But I remember, you will doubtless be restored there to a pleasant home, a charming wife, children perhaps who——­”