"We shall meet again, my dear count," she said to him, in a clear voice, emphasizing her words; "and I hope that, before long, we shall make the acquaintance of the Countess Larinski."He looked at her in astonishment, and murmured, "I lost my mother ten years ago."Immediately, without giving Mme.de Lorcy time to explain herself, he directed his steps hastily towards the door, followed by three glances, all three of which spoke, although they did not all say the same thing.The room was large; during the thirty seconds that it took him to cross it, the angel of silence hovered in the air.
He was about passing through the door, when, as fatality ordained, there occurred to him an unfortunate and disastrous thought.He could not resist the desire to see Mlle.Moriaz once more, to impress forever on his memory her adored image.He turned, and their eyes met.
He paid dearly for this weakness of the will.Apparently the violent restraint that he had exercised over himself for an hour had exhausted his strength.It seemed to him that his heart ceased to beat; he felt his legs stiffen, and refuse to serve him; his teeth clinched, his pupils dilated, consciousness forsook him.Suddenly, heavily as a mass of lead, he fell prone upon the floor, where he remained in a senseless condition.
Mlle.Moriaz could not suppress a cry, and seemed for a moment on the point of fainting herself.Mme.de Lorcy drew her arm around her waist, and hurried her into the next room, throwing to M.Langis a bottle of salts as she did so, and saying, "Take care of Count Larinski."The first thing that M.Langis did was to set the bottle on the table, after which he went close up to Samuel Brohl, who, fainting and inanimate, bore almost the appearance of death.He examined him an instant, bent over him, then, folding his arms and shrugging his shoulders, he said to him, "Monsieur, Mlle.Moriaz is no longer here."Samuel Brohl did not stir."You did not hear me," continued Camille.
"You are superb, M.le Comte; you are very handsome; your attitude is irreproachable, and you might well be taken for a dead person.You fell admirably; I swear I never saw at the theatre a more successful fainting-fit; but spare yourself further trouble for the performance.
I repeat, Mlle.Moriaz is no longer here."Samuel Brohl remained inert and rigid.
"Perhaps you want to try the strength of my wrists," continued Camille."Very well, I will give you that satisfaction."And, with these words, he seized him round his waist, summoned all his strength in order to lift him, and deposited him at full length on the sofa.
He examined him again, and said: "Will this tragi-comedy last much longer? Shall I not find a secret to resuscitate you? Listen to me, monsieur.I love with all my soul the woman that you pretend to love.
Does that not suffice? Monsieur, you are a Polish adventurer, and Ihave as much admiration for your social talents as I have little esteem for yourself.Does that not suffice yet? I would not, however, lift my hand to you.I entreat you to consider the affront received."It seemed as if the dead man trembled slightly, and Camille exclaimed:
"Thank God! this time you have given sign of life, and the insult found the way to your heart.I would be charmed to restore you to your senses.I await your commands.The day, the place, and the weapons, Ileave to your choice.And, stay! You can count on my absolute discretion.No one, I give you my word, shall learn from me that your fainting-fit had ears, and resented insults.Here is my address, monsieur."And, drawing from his pocket a visiting-card, he tried to slip it into the cold, listless, pendent hand, which let it fall to the ground.
"What obstinacy!" he said."As you will, M.le Comte; I am at the end of my eloquence."He turned his back, seated himself in a chair, and taking a paper, he unfolded it.Meanwhile the door opened, and Mme.de Lorcy appeared.
"What are you doing here, Camille?" she exclaimed.
"You see, madame," he answered, "I am waiting until this great comedian has finished playing his piece."He was not aware that Mlle.Moriaz also had just entered the /salon/.
She cast him an angry, indignant, threatening glance, in which he read his condemnation.He tried to find some word of excuse or explanation to disarm her anger, but his voice failed him.He bowed low, took his hat, and went away.
Mme.de Lorcy, very much agitated, opened a window; then she threw water into Samuel Brohl's face, rubbed his temples with a vivacity that was not altogether exempt from roughness, and made him smell English salts.
"Ah, my dear! pray go away," she said to Antoinette; "this is no place for you."Antoinette did not go away; her face contracted, her lips trembling, she seated herself aside at some distance from the sofa.
Mme.de Lorcy's energetic exertions at last produced their effect.
Samuel Brohl was not dead; a quiver ran through his frame, his limbs relaxed, and at the end of a few instants he reopened his eyes, then his mouth; he sat up, and stammered: "Where am I? What has happened?
Ah, my God! it was but a moment ago that she was here!"Mme.de Lorcy laid her hand on his mouth, and, bending over his ears, she said, in a severe, imperious tone, "She is here still!"She did not succeed in making herself understood.One only recovers by degrees from such a fainting-fit.Samuel Brohl was again overcome by weakness; his eyes closed once more, and he let his head sink between his hands.After a silence of a few moments he said, in a choked voice: "Ah! pardon me, madame.I am ashamed of myself.My courage failed me; my strength betrayed me.I love her madly, and I had sworn never to see her again.It was in order to fly from her that I was going away."He raised his head; he saw Antoinette; he looked wildly at her, as though he did not recognise her.
He recognised her at last, made a gesture of alarm, rose precipitately, and fled.
Mlle.Moriaz drew near Mme.de Lorcy, and said to her, "Well, what do you think of it?""I think, my dear," she replied, "that Mme.de Lorcy is a fool, and that Count Larinski is a powerful man."Antoinette looked at her with a bitter smile, and touched her arm lightly."Admit, madame," she said, "that if he had a hundred thousand livres' income, you would not think of doubting his sincerity."Mme.de Lorcy did not reply; she could not say "No," and she was enraged to feel that she was both right and wrong.It is an accident that happens sometimes to women of the world.
