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into society and was forbidden to work； he grew sleepy after dinner； in
order to rouse himself he was glad to play a hand of /bezique/ or /ecarte/。
For want of some one better； he played with Mlle。 Moiseney； but this
make…shift was little to his taste； he disliked immensely coming into too
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close proximity with the pinched visage and yellow ribbons of Pope Joan。
He proposed to Count Larinski to take a hand with him； and his proposal
was accepted with the best grace in the world。 〃Decidedly this man is
good for everything；〃 thought M。 Moriaz； and he conceived a great liking
for him。 The result was； that during an entire week Count Abel passed
every evening at the Hotel Badrutt。
〃Your father is a most peculiar man；〃 said Mlle。 Moiseney； indignantly；
to Antoinette。 〃He is shockingly egotistical。 He has confiscated M。
Larinski。 The idea of employing such a man as that to play /bezique/！ He
will stop coming。〃
But the count's former savageness seemed wholly subdued。 He did not
stop coming。
One evening M。 Moriaz committed an imprudence。 In making an odd
trick； he carelessly asked M。 Larinski who had been his piano professor。
〃One whose portrait I always carry about me；〃 was the reply。
And； drawing from his vest…pocket a medallion； he presented it to M。
Moriaz； who； after having looked at it； passed it over to his daughter。 The
medallion contained the portrait of a woman with blond hair； blue eyes； a
refined； lovely mouth； a fragile； delicate being with countenance at the
same time sweet and sad； the face of an angel； but an angel who had lived
and suffered。
〃What an exquisite face！〃 cried Mlle。 Moriaz。
Truly it was exquisite。 Some one has asserted that a Polish woman is
like punch made with holy…water。 One may like neither the punch nor the
holy…water； and yet be very fond of Polish women。 They form one of the
best chapters in the great book of the Creator。
〃It is the portrait of my mother；〃 said Count Larinski。
〃Are you so fortunate as to still possess her？〃 asked Antoinette。
〃She was a tender flower；〃 he replied； 〃and tender flowers never live
long。〃
〃Her portrait shows it plainly； one can see that she suffered much； but
was resigned to live。〃
For the first time the count departed from the reserve he had shown
towards Mlle。 Antoinette Moriaz。 〃I have no words to tell you；〃 he
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exclaimed； 〃how happy I am that my mother pleases you！〃
Othello was accused of having employed secret philters to win
Desdemona's love。 Brabantio had only himself to blame； he had taken a
liking to Othello； and often invited him to come to him； he did not make
him play /bezique/； but he questioned him on his past。 The Moor
recounted his life； his sufferings； his adventures； and Desdemona wept。
The fathers question； the heroes or adventurers recount； and the daughters
weep。 Such are the outlines of a history as old as the world。 Abel Larinski
had left the card…table。 He had taken his seat in an arm…chair； facing Mlle。
Moiseney。 He was questioned； he replied。
His destiny had been neither light nor easy。 He was quite young when
his father； Count Witold Larinski； implicated in a conspiracy； had been
compelled to flee from Warsaw。 His property was confiscated； but luckily
he had some investments away from home； which prevented him from
being left wholly penniless。 He was a man of projects。 He emigrated to
America with his wife and his son； he dreamed of making a name and a
fortune by cutting a canal through the Isthmus of Panama。 He repaired to
New Granada； there to make his studies and his charts。 He made them so
thoroughly that he died of yellow fever before having begun his work；
having come to the end of his money and leaving his widow in the most
cruel destitution。 Countess Larinski said to her son： 〃We have nothing
more to live on； but； then； is it so necessary to live？〃 She uttered these
words with an angelic smile about her lips。 Abel set out for California。 He
undertook the most menial services； he swept the streets； acted as porter；
what cared he； so long as his mother did not die of hunger？ All that he
earned he sent to her； enduring himself the most terrible privations；
making her think that he denied himself nothing。 In the course of time
Fortune favoured him； he had acquired a certain competency。 The countess
came to rejoin him in San Francisco； but angels cannot live in the rude；
exciting atmosphere of the gold…seekers； they suffer； spread their wings；
and fly away。 Some weeks after having lost his motherit was in 1863
Count Abel learned from a journal that fell into his hands that Poland had
risen again。 He was twenty…one years of age。 He thought he heard a voice
calling him； and another voice from the skies whispered： 〃She calls thee。
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Go； it is thy duty。〃 And he went。 Two months later he crossed the frontier
of Galicia to join the bands of Langiewicz。
Othello spoke to Desdemona of caverns； deserts； quarries； rocks； and
hills whose heads touch heaven； of cannibals； the anthropophagi； and men
whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders。 Count Abel spoke to Mlle。
Moriaz of the fortunes and vicissitudes of partisan warfare； of vain
exploits； of obscure glories； of bloody encounters that never are decisive；
of defeats from which survive hope； hunger； thirst； cold； snow stained with
blood； and long captivities in forests； tracked by the enemy； then disasters；
discouragements； the vanishing of the last hope； punishment； the gallows；
and finally a mute； feverish resignation； swallowed up in that vast solitude
with which silence surrounds misfortune。 After the dispersion of the band
whose destinies he had followed； he had gone over to Roumania。
This narration； exact and precise； bore the impress of truth。 Count Abel
made it in a simple； modest tone； keeping himself as much as possible in
the background； and growing persuasive without apparent effort。 There
were moments when his face would flame up with enthusiasm； when his
voice would become husky and broken； when he would seek for a word；
become impatient because he could not find it； find it at last； and this
effort added to the energy of his spasmodic and disjointed eloquence。 In
conclusion； he said： 〃In his youth man believes himself born to roll； the
day comes when he experiences the necessity of being seated。 I am seated；
my seat is a little hard； but when I am tempted to murmur； I think of my
mother and refrain。〃
〃What did you do in Roumania？〃 inquired M。 Moriaz； who liked to
have stories circumstantially detailed。
〃Ah！ I beg of you to excuse me from recounting to you the worst
employed years of my life。 I am my father's own son。 He dreamed of
cutting through an isthmus； I of inventing a gun。 I spent four years of my
life in fabricating it； and the first time it was used it burst。〃
And thereupon he plunged into a somewhat humorous description of
his invention； his hopes； his golden dreams； his disappointments； and his
chagrin。 〃The only admirable thing in the whole affair；〃 he concluded；
〃and something that I believe never has happened to any other inventor； is
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that I am cured entirely of my chimera； I defy it to take possession of me
again。 I propose to put myself under discipline in order to expiate my
extravagance。 So soon as my cure is entirely finished I will set out for
Paris； where I will do penance。〃
〃What kind of penance？〃 asked M。 Moriaz。 〃Paris is not a hermitage。〃
〃Nor is it my intention to live there as a hermit；〃 was the reply； given
with perfect simplicity。 〃I go to give lessons in music and in the
languages。〃
〃Indeed！〃 exclaimed M。 Mor