samuel brohl & company-第11章

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g。　M。　Moriaz　liked　music；　but　he　liked　something　else　besides。　When　he　could　not　go　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　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　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　1863Count　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。　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　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。　Moriaz。　〃Do　you　see　no　other　career　open　to　you；　my　dear　count？〃

〃I　am　no　longer　a　count；〃　he　replied；　with　an　heroic　smile。　〃Counts　do　not　run　about　giving　private　lessons。〃　And　a　strange　light　flashed　in　his　eyes　as　he　spoke。　〃I　shall　run　about　giving　private　lessons　until　I　hear　anew　the　voice　that　spoke　to　me　in　California。　It　will　find　me　ever　ready；　my　reply　will　be：　'I　belong　to　thee；　dispose　of　me　at　thy　pleasure。'　Ah！　this　chimera　is　one　that　I　never　will　renounce！〃

Then　suddenly　he　started　as　one　just　awakening　from　a　dream；　he　drew　his　hand　over　his　brow；　looked　confusedly　around　him；　and　said：　〃/Grand