“It is a matter of small import, but I do not gainsay it.”
“Ah, if you had only heard him play one of Schumann’s romances!”
“A talent for music is a noble one. Nevertheless, the man’s chief merit, in my eyes, is that he has a taste for saving life.”
“Oh, I was sure from the first, perfectly sure, that this man had a large heart and a noble soul. I read physiognomies very correctly, and I never need to see people twice to know how far they can be relied on.” After a pause she added, “I wonder if I dare tell you, my dear, of an idea that has occurred to me?”
“Tell me, by all means. Your ideas sometimes amuse me.”
“Might it not turn out that the author of a certain note, and sender of a certain thing, was M. le Comte Abel Larinski?”
“Why he rather than any other?” queried Antoinette. “I believe you do him wrong: he appears to be a gentleman, and gentlemen do not write anonymous letters.”
“Oh! that was a very innocent one, and you may be sure that he wrote it in perfect good faith.”
“You believe, then, mademoiselle, that in good faith a man about to put a halter about his neck would renounce his project because he had encountered Mlle. Antoinette Moriaz on a public highway?”
“Why not?” cried Mlle. Moiseney, looking at her with eyes wide open with admiration. “Besides, you know the Poles are a hot-headed people, whose hearts are open to all noble enthusiasms. One could pardon in Count Larinski what could not be overlooked in a Parisian.”