My poor mother used often to say: "My son, youth should be employed in laying by a great store of extravagant enthusiasm; otherwise, at the end of life's journey the heart will be void, for much is left on the road."' "Calm, _seigneur_, your excited fears, no one has designs on your daughter; we evidently find her charming, but are by no means in love with her.

With much precaution and circumlocution I gently proceeded to question Count Larinski on the state of his affairs, about which he never has opened his mouth.

He frowned.

I did not lose courage.

I offered him this place of professor of the Slavonian languages of which the abbe had again spoken.