Very speedily she renounced her search.
The bouquet pleased her; she kept it as a present fallen from the skies, and preserved the letter as a curiosity, without long troubling herself to know who had written it.

"Do not let us talk about it any more, it is doubtless some lunatic," she replied one day to Mlle.

Moiseney, who kept constantly recurring to the incident whose mystery she burned to fathom.
The good demoiselle had been tempted to stop people in the road to ask, "Was it you ?" Perchance she might have suspected her Bergun unknown to have a hand in the affair, had she had the least idea that he was at Saint Moritz, where she never had met him.

He came there, nevertheless, every day, but at his own time; besides, the hotels were full to overflowing, and it was very easy to lose one's self in the crowd.
To tell the truth, when Count Abel Larinski came to Saint Moritz he was far less occupied with Mlle.

Moriaz than with a certain illustrious chemist.