"The man I loved did not tell lies," she replied.
"Yes, I lied to you," he said, panting like a hunted animal, "and I take all the shame of it gladly. I lied because I loved you to madness; and I lied because you are dearer to me than honour; I lied because I despaired of touching your heart, and I did not care by what means I won you. Why did I ever meet you? Why couldn't I have passed you by, without you becoming the dream of my whole life? I have lied. Who would not lie to be loved by you?"
Never had Samuel Brohl appeared so beautiful. Despair and passion lighted up his strange green eyes with a sombre flame. He had the sinister charm of a fallen archangel, and he fixed on Antoinette a wild, fascinating glance, that said:
"What do my name, my deceptions and the rest, matter to you? My face at least is not a mask, and the man who moved you, the man who won you, was I."
Mlle. Moriaz, however, divined the thought in the eyes of Samuel Brohl.
"You are a good actor," she said between her teeth. "But it is time that this comedy came to an end."
He threw himself on the grass at her feet, and then sprang up, and tried to clasp her in his arms.
"Camille! Camille!" she cried, "save me from this man."
Langis darted out after Brohl, and the Jew took to his heels. Langis would have followed him as gladly as a hound follows a fox, but he saw Antoinette's strength had given way, and running up to her, he caught her in his arms as she reeled, and tenderly carried her into the house. That evening, Count Abel Larinski disappeared from the world. Samuel Brohl rose up from his grave at Bucharest, and took the name of Kicks, and emigrated to America some time before the marriage of Mlle. Moriaz to M. Camille Langis was announced in the "Figaro."