mother gratifies his
whims and at the same time suspects mutiny. Some prying persons having
ventured to question the Comte de Lanty indiscreetly, that cold and
reserved individual seemed not to understand their questions. And so,
after many attempts, which the circumspection of all the members of the
family rendered fruitless, no one sought to discover a secret so well
guarded. Society spies, triflers, and politicians, weary of the strife,
ended by ceasing to concern themselves about the mystery.

But at that moment, it may be, there were in those gorgeous salons
philosophers who said to themselves, as they discussed an ice or a
sherbet, or placed their empty punch glasses on a tray:

"I should not be surprised to learn that these people are knaves. That
old fellow who keeps out of sight and appears only at the equinoxes or
solstices, looks to me exactly like an assassin."

"Or a bankrupt."

"There's very little difference. To destroy a man's fortune is worse
than to kill the man himself."

"I bet twenty louis, monsieur; there are forty due me."

"Faith, monsieur; there are only thirty left on the cloth."

"Just see what a mixed company there is! One can't play cards in peace."

"Very true. But it's almost six months since we saw the Spirit. Do you
think he's a living being?"

"Well, barely."

These last remarks were made in my neighborhood by persons whom I did
not know, and who passed out of hearing just as I was summarizing in one
last thought my reflections, in which black and white, life and death,
were inextricably mingled. My wandering imagination, like my eyes,
contemplated alternately the festivities, which had now reached the
climax of their splendor, and the gloomy picture presented by the
gardens. I have no idea how long I meditated upon those two faces of
the human medal; but I was suddenly aroused by the stifled laughter of
a young woman. I was stupefied at the picture presented to my eyes.
By virtue of one of the strangest of nature's freaks, the thought half
draped in black, which was tossing about in my brain, emerged from it
and stood before me personified, living; it had come forth like Minerva
from Jupiter's brain, tall and strong; it was at once a hundred years
old and twenty-two; it was alive and dead. Escaped from his chamber,
like a madman from his cell, the little old man had evidently crept
behind a long line of people who were listening attentively to
Marianina's voice as she finis