He has confiscated M.
Larinski.

The idea of employing such a man as that to play _bezique_! He will stop coming." But the count's former savageness seemed wholly subdued.

He did not stop coming.
One evening M.Moriaz committed an imprudence.

In making an odd trick, he carelessly asked M.Larinski who had been his piano professor.
"One whose portrait I always carry about me," was the reply.
And, drawing from his vest-pocket a medallion, he presented it to M.
Moriaz, who, after having looked at it, passed it over to his daughter.
The medallion contained the portrait of a woman with blond hair, blue eyes, a refined, lovely mouth, a fragile, delicate being with countenance at the same time sweet and sad, the face of an angel, but an angel who had lived and suffered.
"What an exquisite face!" cried Mlle.

Moriaz.
Truly it was exquisite.