He had the audacity to assert to me that I was a good woman, but very credulous, which in my estimation is not very polite.

He no longer acts as a nephew, and respect is dead." Ten days later M.Moriaz received at Churwalden a fourth and last letter: "September 6th.
"Decidedly my dear friend, Count Larinski is a delightful man, and I never will pardon myself for having judged ill of him.

The day before yesterday I did not know the extent of his merit and of his virtues.
His beautiful soul is like a country where one passes from one pleasing discovery to another, and at each step a new scene is revealed.

Between ourselves, Antoinette is a dreamer: where has she got the idea that this man is in love with her?
These Counts Larinski have artists' enthusiasm, tender and sensitive hearts, and poetic imaginations; they love everything, and they love nothing; they admire a pretty woman as they admire a beautiful flower, a humming-bird, a picture of Titian's.

Did I tell you that the other day, as I was showing him through my park, he almost fainted before my purple beech--which assuredly is a marvel?
He was in ecstasy; I truly believe there were tears in his eyes.