Samuel Brohl was seated before an empty trunk, which he was apparently about to pack, when he heard some one knock at his door.He went to open it and found himself face to face with Abbe Miollens.From the moment of their first meeting, Samuel Brohl had conceived for the abbe that warm sympathy, that strong liking, with which he was always inspired by people in whom he believed he recognised useful animals who might be of advantage to him, whom he considered destined to render him some essential service.He seldom mistook; he was a admirable diagnostician; he recognised at first sight the divine impress of predestination.He gave the most cordial reception to his reverend friend, and ushered him into his modest quarters with all the more /empressement/, because he detected at once the mysterious, rather agitated air he wore."Does he come in the quality of a diplomatic agent, charged with some mission extraordinary?" he asked himself.On his side the abbe studied Samuel Brohl without seeming to do so.He was struck with his physiognomy, which expressed at this moment a manly yet sorrowful pride.His eyes betrayed at intervals the secret of some heroic grief that he had sworn to repress before men, and to confess to God alone.
He sat down with his guest, and they began to talk; but the abbe directed the conversation into topics of the greatest indifference.
Samuel Brohl listened to him and replied with a melancholy grace.
Lively as was his curiosity he well knew how to hold it in check.
Samuel Brohl never had been in a hurry; during the month that had elapsed he had proved that he knew how to wait--a faculty lacking in more diplomates than one.
Abbe Miollens's call had lasted during the usual time allotted to a polite visit, and the worthy man seemed about to depart, when, pointing with his forefinger to the open valise, he remarked: "I see here preparations that grieve me.I did dream, my dear count, of inviting you to Maisons.I have a spare chamber there which I might offer to you./Hoc erat in votis/, I should indeed have been happy to have had you for a guest.We should have chatted and made music to our hearts' content, close by a window opening on a garden.'Hae latebrae dulces, etiam, si credis, amoenae.' But, alas! you are going to leave us; you do not care for the friendship accorded you here.Has Vienna such superior attractions for you? But I remember, you will doubtless be restored there to a pleasant home, a charming wife, children perhaps who----"Samuel looked at him with an astonished, confused air, as he had viewed Mme.de Lorcy when she undertook to speak to him of the Countess Larinski."What do you mean?" he finally asked.
"Why, did you not confide to me yourself that you were married?"Samuel opened wide his eyes; during some moments he seemed to be in a dream; then, suddenly putting his hand to his brow and beginning to smile, he said: "Ah! I see--I see.Did you take me literally? Ithought you understood what I said.No, my dear abbe, I am not married, and I never shall marry; but there are free unions as sacred, as indissoluble as marriage."The abbe knit his brows, his countenance assumed an expression of chagrin and disapproval.He was about delivering to his dear count a sermon on the immorality and positive danger of free unions, but Samuel Brohl gave him no time."I am not going to Vienna to rejoin my mistress," he interposed."She never leaves me, she accompanies me everywhere; she is here."Abbe Miollens cast about him a startled, bewildered gaze, expecting to see a woman start out of some closet or come forward from behind some curtain.
"I tell you that she is here," repeated Samuel Brohl, pointing to an alabaster statuette, posed on a /piedouche/.The statuette represented a woman bound tightly, on whom two Cossacks were inflicting the knout;the socle bore the inscription, "Polonia vincta et flagellata."The abbe's countenance became transformed in the twinkling of an eye, the wrinkles smoothed away from his brow, his mouth relaxed, a joyous light shone in his eyes."How well it is that I came!" thought he.
"And under what obligations M.Moriaz will be to me!"Turning towards Samuel he exclaimed:
"I am simply a fool; I imagined-- Ah! I comprehend, your mistress is Poland; this is delightful, and it is truly a union that is as sacred as marriage.It has, besides, this advantage--that it interferes with nothing else.Poland is not jealous, and if, peradventure, you should meet a woman worthy of you whom you would like to marry, your mistress would have nothing to say against it.To speak accurately, however, she is not your mistress; one's country is one's mother, and reasonable mothers never prevent their sons from marrying."It was now Samuel's turn to assume a stern and sombre countenance.His eye fixed upon the statuette, he replied:
"You deceive yourself, M.l'Abbe, I belong to her, I have no longer the right to dispose of either my heart, or my soul, or my life; she will have my every thought and my last drop of blood.I am bound to her by my vows quite as much, I think, as is the monk by his.""Excuse me, my dear count," said the abbe; "this is fanaticism, or Igreatly mistake.Since when have patriots come to take the vow of celibacy? Their first duty is to become the fathers of children who will become good citizens.The day when there will cease to be Poles, there will cease also to be a Poland."Samuel Brohl interrupted him, pressing his arm earnestly, and saying:
"Look at me well; have I not the appearance of an adventurer?" The abbe recoiled."This word shocks you?" continued Samuel."Yes, I am a man of adventures, born to be always on my feet, and ready to start off at a moment's warning.Marriage was not instituted for those whose lives are liable at any time to be in jeopardy." With a tragic accent, he added: "You know what occurred in Bosnia.How do we know that war may not very shortly be proclaimed, and who can foresee the consequences? I must hold myself in readiness for the great day.
