Samuel Brohl interrupted him, pressing his arm earnestly, and saying: 

“Look at me well; have I not the appearance of an adventurer?” The abbe recoiled.  “This word shocks you?” continued Samuel.  “Yes, I am a man of adventures, born to be always on my feet, and ready to start off at a moment’s warning.  Marriage was not instituted for those whose lives are liable at any time to be in jeopardy.”  With a tragic accent, he added:  “You know what occurred in Bosnia.  How do we know that war may not very shortly be proclaimed, and who can foresee the consequences?  I must hold myself in readiness for the great day.  Perhaps an inscrutable Providence may ere long offer me a new occasion to risk my life for my country; perhaps Poland will call me, crying, ‘Come, I have need of thee!’ If I should respond:  ’I belong no more to myself, I have given my heart to a woman who holds me in chains; I have henceforth a roof, a family, a hearthstone, dear ties that I dare not break!’ I ask you, M. l’Abbe, would not Poland have a right to say to me, ’Thou hast violated thy vow; thou hast denied me; upon thy head rest forever my maledictions?’”

Abbe Miollens had just taken a pinch of snuff, and he hearkened to this harangue, tapping his fingers impatiently on the lid of his handsome gold snuff-box, which had been presented to him by the most amiable of his penitents.

“If this be the way you view it,” replied he, “is your conscience quite tranquil, my dear friend? for you will permit me, I trust, to call you so.  Ay, is it sure that from your standpoint your conscience has no accusations to make you?  Is it certain that your heart has not been unfaithful to its mistress?  If I may believe a certain rumour that has reached my ear, there took place a most singular scene yesterday at the house of Mme. de Lorcy.”

Samuel Brohl trembled violently; he changed colour; he buried his face in his hands, doubtless to hide from the abbe the blushes remorse had caused to mantle his cheeks.  In a faint voice he murmured: 

“Not a word more! you know not how deep a wound you have probed.”

“It is, then, true that you love Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz?” asked the abbe.

“I have sworn that she never shall know it,” replied Samuel, in accents of the most humble contrition.  “Yesterday I had the unworthy weakness to betray myself. Mon Dieu! what must she have thought of me?”

As he spoke thus, his face buried in his hands, he slightly moved apart his fingers, and fixed upon the abbe two glittering eyes that, like cats’ eyes, were capable of seeing clearly in the dark.

“What she thinks of you!” echoed the abbe, taking a fresh pinch of snuff.  “Bah! my dear count, women never are angry when a man swoons away because of their bright eyes, especially when this man is a noble chevalier, a true knight of the Round Table.  I have reason to believe that Mlle. Moriaz did not take your accident unkindly.  Shall I tell you my whole thought?  I should not be surprised if you had touched her heart, and that, if you take the pains, you may flatter yourself with the hope of one day being loved by her.”