“Madame Samoris is the type of these adventuresses, elegant, mature and still beautiful.  Charming feline creatures, you feel that they are vicious to the marrow of their bones.  You find them very amusing when you visit them; they give card parties; they have dances and suppers; in short, they offer you all the pleasures of social life.

“And she had a daughter—­a tall, fine-looking girl, always ready for amusement, always full of laughter and reckless gaiety—­a true adventuress’ daughter—­but, at the same time, an innocent, unsophisticated, artless girl, who saw nothing, knew nothing, understood nothing of all the things that happened in her father’s house.

“The girl was simply a puzzle to me.  She was a mystery.  She lived amid those infamous surroundings with a quiet, tranquil ease that was either terribly criminal or else the result of innocence.  She sprang from the filth of that class like a beautiful flower fed on corruption.”

“How do you know about them?”

“How do I know?  That’s the funniest part of the business!  One morning there was a ring at my door, and my valet came up to tell me that M. Joseph Bonenthal wanted to speak to me.  I said directly: 

“‘And who is this gentleman?’ My valet replied:  ’I don’t know, monsieur; perhaps ‘tis some one that wants employment.’  And so it was.  The man wanted me to take him as a servant.  I asked him where he had been last.  He answered:  ‘With the Comtesse Samoris.’  ‘Ah!’ said I, ’but my house is not a bit like hers.’  ‘I know that well, monsieur,’ he said, ’and that’s the very reason I want to take service with monsieur.  I’ve had enough of these people:  a man may stay a little while with them, but he won’t remain long with them.’  I required an additional man servant at the time and so I took him.

“A month later Mademoiselle Yvette Samoris died mysteriously, and here are all the details of her death I could gather from Joseph, who got them from his sweetheart, the comtesse’s chambermaid.

“It was a ball night, and two newly arrived guests were chatting behind a door.  Mademoiselle Yvette, who had just been dancing, leaned against this door to get a little air.

“They did not see her approaching, but she heard what they were saying.  And this was what they said: 

“‘But who is the father of the girl?’

“’A Russian, it appears; Count Rouvaloff.  He never comes near the mother now.’

“‘And who is the reigning prince to-day?’

“’That English prince standing near the window; Madame Samoris adores him.  But her adoration of any one never lasts longer than a month or six weeks.  Nevertheless, as you see, she has a large circle of admirers.  All are called—­and nearly all are chosen.  That kind of thing costs a good deal, but—­hang it, what can you expect?’

“‘And where did she get this name of Samoris?’

“’From the only man perhaps that she ever loved—­a Jewish banker from Berlin who goes by the name of Samuel Morris.’