In crossing the _salon_ she perceived that M.Larinski had forgotten a book he had left on the piano when he came in.

She opened the volume; he had written his name on the top of the first page, and Antoinette recognised the handwriting of the note.
Shut up in her own room, while taking down and combing her hair, her imagination long wandered through California and Poland.

She compared M.Larinski with all the other men she ever had known, and she concluded that he resembled none of them.

And it was he who had written: "I arrived in this village disgusted with life, sorrowful and so weary that I longed to die.

I saw you pass by, and I know not what mysterious virtue entered into me.