We take out our revenge in insolence， and from time to time in petty persecutions， and we gradually arrive at the conclusion that the sole means of freeing ourselves from the yoke of the Jew would be to conquer the vices by which he lives." Count Abel added that for his part he had no prejudice against these children of Abraham， and he quoted the words of an Austrian publicist who said that each country had the kind of Jews it deserved."In fact，" he continued， "in England， as in France， and in every country where they are placed on a footing of equality， they become one of the most wholesome， most vigorous elements of the nation， while they are the scourge， the leeches， of the countries that persecute them.""And， truly， justice demands that it should be so，" cried Mlle.
Moriaz.
For the first time the count addressed himself directly to her， saying， with a smile： "How is this， mademoiselle？ You are a woman， and you love justice！""This astonishes you， monsieur？" she rejoined."You do not think justice one of our virtues？""A woman of my acquaintance，" he replied， "always maintained that it would be rendering a very bad service to this poor world of ours to suppress all injustice， because with the same stroke would also be suppressed all charity.""That is not my opinion，" said she."When I give， it seems to me that I make restitution.""She is somewhat of a socialist，" cried M.Moriaz."I perceive it every January in ****** out her accounts， and it is fortunate that she intrusts this to me， for she never takes the trouble to look at the memorandum her banker sends her.""I am proud for Poland that Mlle.Moriaz has a Polish failing，" said Abel Larinski， gallantly.
"Is it a failing？" queried Antoinette.
"Arithmetic is the most beautiful of the sciences and the mother of certainty，" said M.Moriaz.And turning towards the count， he added：
"She is very wrong-headed， this girl of mine； she holds absolutely revolutionary principles， dangerous to public order and the preservation of society.Why， she maintains that people who are in need have a right to the superfluities of others！""This appears to me self-evident，" said she.
"And， for example，" further continued M.Moriaz， "she has among her /proteges/ a certain Mlle.Galard--""Galet，" said Mlle.Moiseney， bridling up， for she had been impatiently awaiting an opportunity to put in a word.
"This Mlle.Leontine Galet， who lives at No.25 Rue Mouffetard--""No.27，" again interposed Mlle.Moiseney， in a magisterial tone.
"As usual， you are sure of it， perfectly sure.Very good！ This Mlle.
Galard or Galet， residing at No.25 or No.27 Rue Mouffetard， was formerly a florist by trade， and now she has not a sou.I do not wish to fathom the mysteries of her past--it is very apt to be 'lightly come， lightly go' with the money of these people--but certain it is that Mlle.Galard--""Galet，" put in Mlle.Moiseney， sharply.
"Is to-day an infirm old woman， a worthy object of the compassion of charitable people，" continued M.Moriaz， heedless of this last interruption."Mlle.Moriaz allows her a pension， with which I find no fault； but Mlle.Galet--I mistake， Mlle.Galard--has retained from her former calling her passion for flowers， and during the winter Mlle.
Moriaz sends her every week a bouquet costing from ten to twelve francs， which shows， according to my opinion， a lack of common-sense.
In the month of January last， she sent for Parma violets for this /protégé/ of hers.Now， I appeal to M.Larinski--is this reasonable， or is it absurd？""It is admirably absurd and foolishly admirable，" replied the count.
"The flowers I give her are never so beautiful as some that were sent me the other day，" exclaimed Mlle.Moriaz.
She went then into the next room， and returned， carrying the vase of water containing the mysterious bouquet."What do you think of these？"she asked the count."They are already much faded， and yet I think they are beautiful still."He admired the bouquet； but， although Antoinette regarded him fixedly， she detected neither blush nor confusion on his face."It was not he，"she said to herself.
There was a piano in the room where they had dined.As Count Abel was taking leave， Mlle.Moiseney begged him to give Mlle.Moriaz proof of his talent.He slightly knit his brows at this request， and resumed that sombre， almost savage， air he had worn when he met Antoinette at the foot of the mountain.He urged in excuse the lateness of the hour， but he allowed the promise to be wrested from him that he would be more complaisant the next day.
When he was gone， accompanied by M.Moriaz， who said he would walk a little distance with him， Antoinette exclaimed： "You see， my dear--it was not he.""Suppose I was wrong，" replied Mlle.Moiseney， in a piqued tone--"you will at least grant that he is handsome？""As handsome as you please.Do you know what I think of when I look at him？ A haunted castle.And I feel curious to make the acquaintance of the goblins that visit it."Notwithstanding his promise， Count Larinski did not reappear before the lapse of three days； but this time he gave all the music that was asked of him.His memory was surprising， and his whole soul seemed to be at the ends of his fingers； and he drew marvellous strains from an instrument which， in itself， was far from being a marvel.He sang， too； he had a barytone voice， mellow and resonant.After having hummed in a low tone some Roumanic melodies， he struck up one of his own national songs.This he failed to finish； tears started in his eyes， emotion overpowered his voice.He broke off abruptly， asking pardon for the weakness that had caused him to make himself ridiculous； but one glance at Mlle.Moriaz convinced him that she did not find him ridiculous.
A most invaluable resource， indeed， in a mountain-country where the evenings are long， is a Pole who knows how to talk and to sing.M.
