Introduction

Eliza Orzeszko, the authoress of "The Argonauts, " is the greatestfemale writer and thinker in the Slav world at present. There arekeen and good critics, just judges of thought and style, whopronounce her the first literary artist among the women ofEurope. 

These critics are not Western Europeans, for Western Europe hasno means yet of appreciating this gifted woman. No doubt it willhave these means after a time in the form of adequatetranslations. Meanwhile I repeat that she is the greatestauthoress among all the Slav peoples. She is a person of rareintellectual distinction, an observer of exquisite perception instudying men and women, and the difficulties with which they haveto struggle. 

Who are the Slavs among whom Eliza Orzeszko stands thusdistinguished?

The Slavs form a very large majority of the people inAustria-Hungary, an immense majority in European Turkey, and anoverwhelming majority in the Russian Empire; they are besides anunyielding, though repressed, majority in that part of Prussianterritory known as Posen in German, and Poznan in Polish. 

The Slav race occupies an immense region extending from Prussia, Bohemia, and the Adriatic eastward to the Pacific Ocean. Its maindivisions are the Russians, Poles, Bohemians (Chehs), Serbs, Bulgarians; its smaller divisions are the Slovaks, Wends, Slovinians, Croats, Montenegrins. These all have literature insome form, literature which in respect to the world outside isfamous, well known, little known, or unknown. 

The Slavs have behind them a history dramatic to the utmost, varied, full of suffering, full also, of heroism in endurance orvalor. 

The present time is momentous for all nations, the future is atangled riddle; for the Slavs this seems true in a doublemeasure. To involved social problems is added race opposition inthe breasts of neighbors, a deep, sullen historic hostility. Hence when a writer of power appears among the Slavs, whether hetakes up the past or the present, he has that at hand throughwhich he compels the whole world to listen. Sienkiewicz has shownthis, so has Tolstoy, so have Dostoyevski and Gogol. 

The present volume gives in translation a book which should bewidely read with much pleasure. The winning of money on animmense scale to the neglect of all other objects, to the neglecteven of the nearest duties, is the sin of one Argonaut; the utterneglect of money and the proper means of living is the ruin ofthe other. 

Darvid by "iron toil" laid the basis of a splendid structure, butwent no farther; he had not the time, he had not the power, perhaps, to build thereon himself, and his wife, to whom he leftthe task, had not the character to do so. By neglect of dutyDarvid is brought to madness; by neglect of money Kranitski isbrought to be a parasite, and when he loses even that position heis supported by a servant. 

The right use of wealth, the proper direction of labor, these aresupreme questions in our time, and beyond all in America. 

Friends have advised Madame Orzeszko to visit this country andstudy it; visit Chicago, the great business centre, the mostactive city on earth, and New York, the great money capital. Ifshe comes she will see much to rouse thought. What will she see?That we know how to win money and give proper use to it? Whatevershe sees, it will be something of value, that is undoubted;something that may be compared with European conditions, something to be compared with the story in this book. 

Eliza Orzeszko writes because she cannot help writing; her works, contained in forty-odd volumes, touch on the most vital subjectsin the world about her. She tells the truth precisely as she seesit. We may hope for much yet from the pen of this lady, who isstill in the best years of her intellectual activity. 

Madame Orzeszko was born a little more than fifty years ago inLithuania, that part of the Commonwealth which producedMickiewicz, the great poet, and Kosciuszko the hero. 

THE ARGONAUTS

By Eliza Orzeszko (Orzeszkowa)

Translated by Jeremiah CurtinBristol, Vt. , U. S. A. September 12, 1901. 

CHAPTER I

It was the mansion of a millionaire. On the furniture and thewalls of drawing-rooms, colors and gleams played as on thesurface of a pearl shell. Mirrors reflected pictures, and inlaidfloors shone like mirrors. Here and there dark tapestry andmassive curtains seemed to decrease the effect, but only at firstsight, for, in fact, they lent the whole interior a dignity whichwas almost churchlike. At some points everything glistened, gleamed, changed into azure, scarlet, gold, bronze, and thevarious tints of white peculiar to plaster-of-Paris, marble, silk, porcelain. In that house were products of Chinese andJapanese skill; the styles of remote ages were there, and themost exquisite and elegant among modern styles, lamps, chandeliers, candlesticks, vases, ornamental art in its highestdevelopment. Withal much taste and skill was evident, a certaintact in placing things, and a keenness in disposing them, whichindicated infallibly the hand and the mind of a woman who was farabove mediocrity. 

The furnishing of this mansion must have cost sums which to thepoor would seem colossal, and very considerable even to thewealthy. 

Aloysius Darvid, the owner of this mansion, had not inherited hismillions; he had won them with his own iron labor, and he toiledcontinually to increase them. His industry, inventiveness, andenergy were inexhaustible. To him business seemed to be whatwater is to a fish: the element which gives delight and freedom. What was his business? Great and complicated enterprises: theerection of public edifices, the purchase, sale, and exchange ofvalues of various descriptions, exchanges in many markets andcorporations. To finish all this business it was necessary topossess qualities of the most opposite character: the courage ofthe lion and the caution of the fox, the talons of the falcon andthe elasticity of the cat. His life was passed at a gaming-table, composed of the whole surface of a gigantic State; that life wasa species of continuous punting at a bank kept by blind chancerather frequently; for calculation and skill, which meant verymuch in his career, could not eliminate chance altogether, thatpower which appears independently. Hence, he must not let chanceoverthrow him; he might drop to the earth before its thrusts andcontract a muscle, but only to parry, make an elastic spring, andseize new booty. His career was success rising and falling like ariver, it was also a fever, ceaselessly bathed in coolcalculation and reckoning. 

As to the rest, post-wagons, railways, bells at railway stations, urging to haste, glittering snows of the distant North, mountainstowering on the boundary between two parts of the world, riverscutting through uninhabited regions, horizons marked with thegloomy lines of Siberian forests, solitary since the beginning ofages. Then, as a change: noise, glitter, throngs, the brilliancyof capitals, and in those capitals a multitude of doors, some ofwhich open with freedom, while others are closed hermetically;before doors of the second sort the pliancy of the cat's paw isneeded; this finds a hole where the broad way is impossible. 

He was forced to be absent from his family for long months, sometimes for whole years, and even when living under the sameroof with the members of it he was a rare guest, never a realconfiding companion. For permanence, intimacy, tender feeling inrelations, with even those who were nearest him, Darvid had notthe time, just as he had not the time to concentrate his thoughtson any subject whatever unless it was connected with his lines, dates, and figures, or with the meshes of that net in which heenclosed his thoughts and his iron labor. 

As to amusements and delights of life, they were at intervalslove-affairs, flashing up on a sudden, transient, fleeting, vanishing with the smoke of the locomotive which rushed forward, at times luxuries of the table peculiar to various climates, ormajestic scenery which forced itself on the eye by its grandeurand disappeared quickly, or some hours of animated card-playing;but, above all, relations with social magnates, who were on theone hand of use, and on the other an immensely great honor to hisvanity. Money and significance, these were the two poles aroundwhich all Darvid's thoughts, desires, and feelings circled; or, at least, it might seem all, for who can be certain that nothingexists in a man save that which is manifest in his actions?Surely no one, not the man himself even. 

After three years' absence, Darvid had returned only a few monthsbefore to his native city, and to his own house, where he was asever a rare and inattentive guest. Pie was laboring again. In thefirst week, on the first day almost, he discovered a new field;he was very anxious to seize this field, and begin his Herculeanefforts on it. But the seizure depended on a certain very highlyplaced personage to whom, up to that time, he had not been ableto gain admittance. 

The cat's paw had played about a number of times to open acrevice in the closed door, but in vain! He desired aconfidential talk of two hours, but could not obtain it. 

He turned then to a method which had given him real servicefrequently. 

He found an individual who had the art of squeezing into allplaces, of winning everyone, of digging from under the earthcircumstances, relations, influences. Individuals of this kindare generally dubious in character, but this concerned Darvid inno way. He considered that at the bottom of life dregs are foundas surely as slime is in rivers which have golden sand. Hethought of life's dregs and smiled contemptuously, but did nothesitate to handle those dregs, and see if there were goldengrains in them. He called his dubious assistants hounds, for theytracked game in thickets inaccessible to the hunter. Small, almost invisible, they were still better able than he to contractmuscles, creep up or spring over. He had let out such a hound afew days before to gain the desired audience, and had received nonews from him thus far. This disturbed and annoyed Darvidgreatly. He would rush into the new work like a lion into anarena, and spring at fresh prey. 

The evening twilight came down into the series of great and smallchambers. Darvid, in his study, furnished with such dignifiedwealth that it was almost severe in the rich lamp-light, receivedmen who came on affairs of various descriptions: with reports, accounts, requests, proposals. 

In that study everything was dark-colored, massive, grand in itsproportions, of great price, but not flashy. Not the least objectwas showy or fantastic; nothing was visible save dignity andcomfort. There were books behind the glass of a splendidbookcase, two great pictures on the wall, a desk with piles ofpapers, in the middle of the room a round table covered withmaps, pamphlets, thick volumes; around the table, heavy, deep andlow armchairs. The room was spacious with a lofty ceiling, fromwhich hung over the round table a splendid lamp, burningbrightly. 

Darvid's remote prototype, the Argonaut Jason, must have hadquite a different exterior when he sailed on toward Colchis tofind the golden fleece. Time, which changes the methods ofcontest, changes the forms of its knights correspondingly. Jasontrusted in the strength of his arm and his sword-blade. Darvidtrusted in his brain and his nerves only. Hence, in him, brainand nerves were developed to the prejudice of muscles, creating aspecial power, which one had to know in order to recognize it inthat slender and not lofty figure, in that face with shrunkencheeks, covered with skin which was dry, pale, and as mobile asif quivering from every breeze which carried his bark toward theshores which he longed for. On his cheeks shone narrow strips ofwhiskers, almost bronze-hued; the silky ends of these fell on hisstiff, low collar; ruddy mustaches, short and firm, darkened hispale, thin lips, which had a smile in the changeableness of whichwas great expression; this smile encouraged, discouraged, attracted, repelled, believed, doubted, courted or jeered-jeeredfrequently. But the main seat of power in Darvid seemed to be hiseyes, which rested long and attentively on that which heexamined. These eyes had pupils of steel color, cold, very deep, and with a fullness of penetrating light which was often sharp, under brows which were prominent, whose ruddy lines were drawnunder a high forehead, increased further by incipient baldness-aforehead which was smooth and had the polish of ivory; betweenthe brows were numerous wrinkles, like a cloud of anxiety andcare. His was a cold, reasoning face, energetic, with the stampof thought fixed between the brows, and lines of irony which hadmade the mouth drawn. 

A jurist, one of the most renowned in that great city, held inhis hand an open volume of the Code, and was reading aloud aseries of extracts from it. Darvid was standing and listeningattentively, but irony increased in his smile, and, when thejurist stopped reading, he began in a low voice. This voice withits tones suppressed, as it were, through caution, was one ofDarvid's peculiarities. 

"Pardon me, but what you have read has no relation to the pointwhich concerns us. " Taking the book he turned over its pages fora while and began then to read from it. In reading he usedglasses with horn-rims; from these the yellowish pallor of hislean face became deeper. The renowned jurist was confused andastonished. 

"You are right, " said he. "I was mistaken. You know lawfamously. " How was he to avoid knowing it, since it was hisweapon and safety-valve! The jurist sat down on one of the broadand low armchairs in silence, and now the architect unrolled onthe table the plan of a public edifice to which the last finishwas to be given during winter and before work began in spring. 

Darvid listened again in silent thought, looking at the plan withhis steel-colored eyes, in which at times there flashed sparks ofideas coming from the brain-ideas which, after a while, hepresented to the trained architect. He spoke in a voice low andfluent; he spoke connectedly and very clearly. The architectanswered with respect, and, like, the jurist who had preceded, not without a certain astonishment. Great God! this man knowseverything; he moves as freely in the fields of architecture, mathematics, and law as in his own chamber! Darvid noticed theastonishment of those around him, and irony settled on his thinlips. Did those men imagine that he could begin such undertakingsand be like a blind man among colors? Some begin thus but areruined! He understood that in our time immense knowledge is theonly foundation for pyramidal fortunes, and his memory alone knewthe long series of nights which had passed above his head whileit was sleepless in winning knowledge. 

Next appeared before the table a young man, lean and slender; hisdark eyes expressed genius, his clothing was threadbare, hisgestures almost vulgar. This was a sculptor, young but alreadyfamous. The man had incipient consumption, which broughtexcessive ruddiness to his face, a glitter to his eyes, and ashort, rasping cough from his breast. 

He spoke of the sculptures which he was to finish for theedifices reared by the great contractor; he showed the drawingsof them, and explained his ideas; he rose to enthusiasm; he spokemore loudly, and coughed at more frequent intervals. Darvidraised his head; the sensitive skin on his cheeks quivered with adelicate movement; he touched the shoulder of the artist with thetips of two white, slender fingers. 

"Best, " said he; "it hurts you to speak too long. "

"My younger daughter coughs in just this way, " remarked he to theother men present, "and it troubles me somewhat. "

"Perhaps a visit to Italy, " said the architect. 

"Yes, I have thought of that, but the doctors note nothingdangerous so far. " Then he turned to the sculptor:

"You ought to visit Italy, for its collections of art and--itsclimate. " The artist, not pleased with this interruption, did notanswer directly, but went on showing his projects and explainingthem; though his short breath and the cough, which was repeatedoftener, made his conversation more difficult. Thereupon Darvidstraightened himself. 

"I know very little of art, " said he. "Not because I despise it;on the contrary, I think art a power, since the world does ithomage, but because I lack time. Trouble yourself no further toexhibit plans and ideas here. I confirm them beforehand, knowingwell what I do. Prince Zeno, whose good taste and intellect Iadmire, advised me to turn to you. At his house, moreover, I haveseen works of your chisel which charmed me. Some declare that wemen of finance and business represent only matter, and have noconcern with Psyche (the soul). But I say that your Psyche, nowin Prince Zeno's palace, produced on me the impression that I amnot matter only. "

Irony covered his lips, but with increased amiability he added:

"Let us fix the amount of your honorarium, permit me to take theinitiative, " said he, hurriedly. 

In a tone of inquiry he mentioned a sum which was veryconsiderable. The sculptor bowed, unwilling, or unable to concealhis delight and astonishment. Darvid touched him lightly on thearm, and conducted him to a great desk, one drawer of which heopened. The jurist and the architect at the round table exchangedglances. 

"A protege of the prince!" whispered one. 

"Cleverness! advertising!" whispered the other. 

"I know from report, " said Darvid, to the young artist, "thatsculptors must spend considerable sums before they begin a givenwork. Here is an advance. Do not hesitate. Money should be at theservice of talent. "

The sculptor was astonished. He had imagined the millionaire asentirely different. 

"Money should be at the service of talent!" repeated he. 

"I hear this for the first time from a man having money! Do youreally think so?" Darvid smiled, but his face cloudedimmediately. 

"My dear sir, " said he, "I would give, I think, much money if acough like yours were not in the world. "

"Because of your daughter--" began the sculptor, but Darvid hadgrown cold now, ceremonious, and he turned toward the roundtable. 

At the same moment a servant announced from the door a new guest. 

"Pan Arthur Kranitski. "

The guest entered immediately after the servant, and passed theoutgoing sculptor in the door. 

This guest was a man who carried his fifth decade of years withyouthful elasticity of movement, and with a pleasant, winningexpression on his still handsome face. In general he seemed to beclothed with remnants of great manly beauty, from behind which, like soiled lining through rents in a once splendid robe, appeared, carefully concealed, old age, which was premature, perhaps. 

A tall man with a shapely oval face, he had dark whiskers, andthe black curls of his hair did not cover successfully the baldspot appearing on the back of his head; his mustache was curledupward, in the fashion of young men, above ruddy lips; he passedthrough the study with a youthful step, and had the expressintention of greeting the master of the house in a cordial andintimate manner. But in the cold eyes of Darvid appeared flasheswell-nigh threatening; he barely touched with his finger-tips thehand extended by the guest-a hand really aristocratic, white, slender, and greatly cared for. 

"Pardon, pardon, dear Pan Aloysius, that I come at this hour, just the hour of thy important, immense, colossal occupations!But on receiving thy invitation I hastened. "

"Yes, " said Darvid, "I need to talk with you a little--will youwait a while?"

He turned toward the two men standing by the table, who when hegreeted Kranitski looked at him with a curiosity impossible toconceal. 

Every meeting of Darvid with that eternal guest, that offshoot ofaristocratic families, roused the curiosity of people. For a goodwhile Darvid did not know this, but at last he discovered it, andnow his quick glance caught on the lips of the famous jurist abarely discernible smile, to meet which a similar smile appearedon the lips of the architect. He discoursed a few minutes morewith the two men. When they turned to go he conducted them to thedoor; when that was closed he turned to Kranitski and said:

"Now I am at your service. "

No one had ever seen service so icy cold, and having in it theshade of a restrained threat. Kranitski in view of this spentmore time than was needed in placing his hat on one of the piecesof furniture, besides an expression of alarm covered his face, now bent forward, and, in the twinkle of an eye, the wrinkling ofhis forehead and the dropping of his cheeks, made him look tenyears older. Still with grace which was unconscious, since it hadpassed long before into habit, he turned to Darvid. 

"Thou hast written to me, dear Pan Aloysius--"

"I have called you, " interrupted Darvid, "for the purpose ofproposing a certain condition, and a change. "

From a thick, long book he cut out a page, on which, previously, he had written a few words in haste, and giving it to Kranitski, he said:

"Here is a bank check for a considerable sum. Your affairs, as Ihear, are in a very disagreeable condition. "

Kranitski's face grew radiant from delight, and became ten yearsyounger. Taking the check presented to him he began, with acertain hesitation:

"Dear Pan Aloysius, this service, really friendly, which thou artrendering me, even without request on my part, is trulymagnanimous, but be assured that the moment income from myproperty increases--"

Darvid interrupted him a second time. 

"We know each other so long that I cannot be ignorant of whatyour property is, and what income you receive from it. You haveno property. You own a little village, the income from which hasnever sufficed to satisfy even one half of your needs. In thatlittle village you would have passed your life unknown to thegreat world if your mother had not been a relative of PrinceZeno, and some other coronets of nine quarterings. But since youhad relationship so brilliant through your mother, high societydid not suffer from the loss of your presence. I know all thatrelates to you, you need not try to lead me into error--I knoweverything. "

On the last words he put an emphasis which seemed to bringKranitski into a profound confusion, which he could not master. 

"Parole d'honneur, " began he, "I do not understand such a realfriendly service with such a tone. "

"You will understand at once. This sum offered you is not afriendly service, but a simple commercial transaction. To beginwith, I insist that for the future you cut short all relationswith my son Maryan. "

Kranitski stepped back a number of paces. 

"With Maryan!" exclaimed he, as if not wishing to believe his ownears. "I break all relations with him! Is it possible? Why? Howcan that be? But you yourself--"

"That is true, I myself began this. I wished that my family, which, during my frequent absences, resided here permanently, should move in that social sphere which I considered mostdesirable, and I asked you to be the link between my family andthat sphere--"

"I did what you desired, " interrupted Kranitski in turn, andraising his head. 

Darvid, looking firmly into his face, said in a low voice, slowly, but the ice of his tones seemed at moments to break fromthe boiling of passion confined beneath them. 

"Yes, but you, sir, have demoralized my son. Of himself he wouldnever have gone to such a degree of corruption and idleness. Youdrew him from study, you led him into all kinds of sport, youtook him to all places of amusement, from the highest to thelowest. On returning, after three years' absence, I found Maryanwithered morally. Luckily he is a child yet, twenty-three yearsof age, it is possible to save him. The process of salvation Ibegin by forbidding you to have any further relations whateverwith my son. "

Darvid grew terrible during his remaining words. His fingers weresinking into the table, on which he rested his hand. The clusterof wrinkles between his brows became deeper, his eyes had theflash of steel in them; he was all hatred, anger, contempt. ButKranitski, who at first listened to him as if unable to move fromastonishment, boiled up also with anger. 

"What do you say?" cried he. "Does not my hearing deceive me? Youreproach me! Me, who during your ceaseless occupations andabsences have been for many years, one may say, the only guardianof your family, and director of your son. Well! Then do you notremember our former intimacy, and this, that it was I who madeyou acquainted with the highest families of this city, and allthis country? Do you not remember your confidential statements tome that you wished to give your daughters in marriage withinthose circles to which my connections might be a convenientbridge for you? Do you not remember your requests that I shouldintroduce Maryan into the best society, and teach him the mannersprevailing there? Very well! You were making your millions inpeace, going after them to the ends of the earth, while I dideverything that you wished, and now I meet with reproaches, which, at the very least, are expressed without delicacy--desreproches, des grossieretes--Mais ca n'a pas de nom! c'est inoui!This demands the satisfaction of honor. "

His indignation was genuine and heartfelt; it brought out a deepflush on his still shapely face. A stony amazement fell onDarvid. True, true, that man spoke the truth. 

He, Darvid, had used him for his purposes; he had liked the man, almost loved him; he had given him great confidence. He had notlooked into his character; he had not tried to know him, thoughhe had found time to analyze and know men who took no part in hisbusiness. But the fact in this case was, that whatever hadhappened, had happened with his own will. From the depth of hisbosom, from out their mysterious den, came a coil of snakes, anda repulsive coldness and slime rose toward his throat, still hereared his head. 

"There is much truth in what you say; still my decisive andrepeated wish is that you cease to appear in my house. "

Kranitski's forehead was flushed with blood, and the words werehissing on his lips when he cried:

"In view of such feelings of yours toward me, how am I to explainthe service rendered just now?"

"As pay for service which you have rendered me, or my family. Ipay, we are at quits, and part forever. ""You are not the only power in this world!" cried Kranitski; "notyour will alone can open or close the doors of this house to me. "

Darvid, so pale that even his thin lips did not seem to possess adrop of blood, took from a letter-case and showed Kranitski, between two fingers, a letter in a small elegant envelope, bearing the address of Pani Malvina Darvid. 

The dark flush vanished from Kranitski without a trace; he becamevery pale and rested his hand on the arm of the chair; his eyesopened widely. Silence lasted some seconds; between those two menwith faces as pale as linen hung the terror of a discoveredsecret. Darvid, with a voice so stifled that it was barelyaudible, was the first to speak. 

"How this letter came into my hands we need not explain! Simplyby chance. Such chances are very common, and they have in themonly this good, that at times they put an end to deceitand--villainy!"

Kranitski, still very pale except that red spots were coming outon his forehead, looked very old all at once; he advanced somesteps and stood before Darvid, the round table alone was betweenthem. With stifled voice, but fixing his black, flashing eyesboldly on Darvid's face, he said:

"Deceit! villainy! those words are said easily! Do you not knowthat in early youth your wife was almost my betrothed?"

Darvid's lips were covered with irony, and he said:

"You deserted her at command of your mother, when she sent you tothis capital in search of the golden fleece. "

"And when you went to the ends of the earth for it, " answeredKranitski, "you thought proper to place me to guard the womanwhom I loved formerly. You considered yourself invincible, evenwhen separated by hundreds or thousands of miles from her--"

"Let us stop this ridiculous discussion, " said Darvid. 

"As for me, " put in Kranitski, with animation, "I will finish itby offering you any satisfaction which you may demand. I awaityour seconds. "

Darvid laughed loudly and sharply. 

"A duel! Do you think that the world would not know the cause ofit? Your former betrothed would appear in the matter. For that Ishould care less, though I must care, for she bears my name, butI have daughters, and I have business--"

He was silent a while, then he finished:

"A scandal might injure my business, and most assuredly wouldinjure the future of my daughters; therefore I will neitherchallenge you to a duel, nor will I direct my servants to thrashyou!"

A trembling shook Kranitski from head to foot, as if from theeffects of a blow; he straightened himself, he became manful, andcrushing in his hand the bank check which he had received, hurledthat paper bullet into Darvid's face so directly that it hit himat the top of his bronze colored whiskers and fell to his feet. Then with elastic movement, and with a grace which wasunconscious and uncommon, he turned toward the door and strodeout. Darvid remained alone. In that spacious, lofty chamber, richly furnished, in the abundant light of a costly lamp, heremained alone. Clasping his inclined head with both hands, hesqueezed it with his white, lean fingers, as with pincers. Howmany vexations and troubles had met him here after an absence ofyears! There was something greater still than even thesevexations and troubles. The coil of serpents rose in his breastand crawled up to his very throat. 

That was torture mixed with a feeling of unendurable disgust. ButDarvid avoided high-sounding phrases, and would never think orsay: torture, disgust. That was a manner of speaking for idlersand poets. He, a man of iron industry, knew only the wordsvexation, trouble. What is he to do now with that woman? Throwher out like a beast which, bathed in milk and honey by itsowner, has bitten him to the blood? Impossible. His children, especially his daughters, his business, his position, hishouse--scandals are harmful in every way. So he must live onunder the same roof with her; meet the sight of her face, hereyes--those eyes which on a time were for him--yes, it cannot beotherwise. 

He must endure that and master himself; master himself mightily, so as not to let things reach a scene, or reproaches, orexplanation. Naturally, no scenes, disputes, or explanations. For, first of all, what can they profit? Nothing save a uselessexpense of energy, and he needs energy so much. 

Besides, the very best punishment for that woman is unbrokensilence, which will raise between her and him an impenetrablewall. From words, even though they be as sharp as sword-edges, some sound may be got, some slight hope of salvation; butsilence, concealing hidden knowledge of a deed, is a coffin inwhich, from the first hour of each day to the end of it, thatwoman's pride will be placed with all that in her may still behuman. Contempt as silent as the grave! She will eat of hismillions, seasoned with his contempt. She will array herself inhis millions, interwoven with his hatred. Hatred? Oh, beyonddoubt he hates her with passion, and only at times does her namemove marvellously through his brain with such sounds as if theywere the echo of things very dear, things lost forever andirreplaceable. Can it be? Is it possible that she did that?Malvina, once an ideal maiden, and ten years later a woman soloving that when he was going on a journey she threw herself onher knees and wept, and then besought him not to go from her! Heremembers the scene perfectly. 

Her hair of pale gold, dropping then in disorder to her shouldersand bosom--her magnificent hair, surrounded by which the tearsflowing down her face glistened like diamonds! He raised hishead, straightened himself. What stupidity! On what sentiment andexaltation is he losing time and energy! He needs them forsomething else. He needs to concentrate all his forces to bringhis new designs to the desired culmination. Why does "that hound"not show himself and bring the answer needed? Ah, if he couldonly get one hour of that conversation, he would convince; hewould capture; he would overcome rivals, and seize into his ownsole possession new fields of industry and speculation! There arehindrances, intrigues, dangerous rivalries, he knows of them, andthese oppositions it is precisely which attract him most of all. Now especially, with those vexations and troubles, victory andthe new work would be as a spoonful of hashish to him, or a glassof strong, invigorating wine. He must go to the club. A game ofcards, to which he devotes some night hours frequently, is notspecially pleasant, but he plays with persons of high position insociety, or with those who are needed in his business. He willfind perhaps, also, that man for whom he has been waiting, vainly, some days. 

He was extending his hand to the button of the electric bell whenfrom behind the portieres which half hid the door opening to theinterior of the mansion a thin and timid voice came; one couldhardly tell whether it was the voice of a child or a young lady:

"Is it permitted to enter?"

Darvid went to the door hurriedly, saying, also hurriedly:

"It is! It is!"

At that moment, from the darkness which filled the adjoiningroom, into the abundant light of the study, came a maiden offifteen years, in a bright dress; she was tall and very slender, with a small waist and narrow breast. An immense wealth of pale, golden hair seemed to bend back with its weight her small, shapely head somewhat; her oval face, with its delicate features, had the blush of spring on it; her lips were like cherries, andunder the arches of her dark brows were large dark eyes. Rightbehind the bright dress of the girl came a small shaggy creature, a ball of ash colored silk, a little dog. 

"Cara!" cried Darvid, "well, you are here, little one! How oftenhave I asked you to come always boldly. How do you feel to-day?You have not coughed much, I think? Have you taken your dailywalk? With whom did you go? With Miss Mary, or Irene? Come, come, sit here in this armchair. "

He held her small hand in his and led her toward the table, whichwas surrounded with armchairs. In his movements there wassomething polished and exquisite, as it were delicacy toward aperson who was very dear and not much known, pushed to the degreewhere it might be called gallantry. Joined with this was afeeling of delight. She was pleased and smiling, but she wasblushing and embarrassed. Advancing with short steps at his side, she bent to his hand every moment and kissed it. Her act was fullof a timid charm, half capricious. They both looked like personswho were greatly pleased at meeting, but who remained on afooting of ceremony with each other. He received her in his studyas a queen; he seated her in an armchair, then, sitting verynear, he held her hands in his. Between them, on the edge of hismistress's skirt, sat the dog with the ash-colored coat, in aposture of disquiet and uncertainty; it was evident that he wasnot accustomed to visit that room. Cara also, with an expressionof timid happiness on her lips which were open, cast her glancewith a smile on the vases and the walls, uncertain whether shewas to speak, not knowing if she might say something; she boreherself very simply; her small hands rested without motionbetween her father's palms. At last she said, in a very lowvoice:

"I was so anxious to see you, father, dear; I wished so much tospeak with you that I have come. "

"You have done excellently, my little one. Why not come oftener?Your coming gives me great pleasure. "

While speaking he looked all the time into her face, which wasalmost that of a little child. She was so like her mother, thatMalvina's youth was simply renewed in Cara. 

But Malvina, when he made her acquaintance, was considerablyolder; the hair was just the same, very bright, and the eyes withdark brows and pupils, the same shape of forehead. With adeepening of the wrinkles between his brows he repeated:

"Why not come offener?"

"You are always so occupied, father, " whispered she. 

"What of that?" answered he hurriedly and abruptly. 

"There is reproach in your voice. Are my occupations a crime? Butlabor is service, it is the value of a man. My children shouldesteem my labor more than others, since I toil for them as much, or even more, than for myself. "

He did not even think of speaking to that child with a voice soabrupt, and with such a cloud on his forehead; but that cloudcame to him from some place within, from a distant feeling ofsomething which he had never looked at directly before. But hehardly knew the girl! When he went away the last time she was achild; now she was almost full grown. But she, in the twinkle ofan eye, slipped from the low armchair to the carpet, and kneelingwith clasped hands began to speak passionately and quickly:

"Your child is on her knees before you, father. When you were faraway she revered you, did you homage, longed for you; when youare here she loves you greatly, above everything--"

Here she turned and removed from her dress the ball ofash-colored silk, which was climbing to her shoulder. 

"Go away, Puffie, go away! I have no time for thee now. "

She pushed away the little dog, which sat on the carpet somesteps distant. Darvid felt a stream of pleasant warmth floodinginto his breast from the words of his daughter; but on principlehe did not like enthusiasm. In feelings and the expression ofthem he esteemed moderation beyond everything. He raised withboth hands the girl's head, which was bending toward his knees. 

"Be not excited, be not carried away. Repose is beautiful, it isindispensable; without repose no calculation can be accurate, nowork complete. Your attachment makes me happy; but composeyourself, rise from your knees, sit comfortably. "

She put her hands together as in prayer. 

"Let me stay as I am, father, at your knee. I imagined that onyour return I should be able to talk often and long with you; toask about everything, learn everything from you. "

She coughed. Darvid took her in his arms, and, without raisingher from her knees, he drew her to his breast. 

"See! your cough lasts! Do you cough much? Well, do not speak, donot speak! let it pass. Does this cough pass quickly?"

It had passed. She stopped coughing, laughed. Her teeth glitteredlike pearls between her red lips. A gleam of delight shot throughDarvid's eyes. 

"It has gone already! I do not cough often, only rarely. I amperfectly well. I was very sick when I got chilled at an openwindow while you were away, father. "

"I know, I know. Your enthusiastic little head thought of openingthe window on a winter night, so as to peep out and see how thegarden looked covered with snow in the moonlight. "

"The trees, father, the trees!" began she, smiling and withvivacity; "not the whole garden, just the trees, which, coveredwith snow and frost in the moonlight, were like pillars ofmarble, alabaster, crystal, set with diamonds, hung with laces;and whenever the slightest breeze moved, a rain of pearls wasscattered on the ground. ""Great God!" exclaimed Darvid, "marbles, alabasters, laces, diamonds, pearls! But there was nothing of all this in fact!There was nothing but dry trunks, branches, snow, and hoar-frost. That is exaltation! And you see how destructive it may be! Itbrought you acute inflammation of the lungs, the traces of whichare not gone yet. "

"They are!" answered she, in passing, and then she spokeseriously. "My father, is it exaltation to worship somethingwhich is very beautiful, or to love some one greatly with all ourstrength? If it is--then I am given to exaltation, but withoutexaltation what could we live for?"

An expression of wonder, meditation, thoughtfulness filled hereyes and covered her finely cut face with a freshness like thatof a wild rose. With a movement of wonder she opened her arms, and repeated:

"What do we live for?"

Darvid laughed. 

"I see that your head is turned a little, but you are a childyet, and your trouble will pass. "

Stroking her pale, golden hair, he continued:

"Homage, love, and like things of the sensational sort, are verynice, very beautiful, but should not occupy the first place. "

Cara listened so eagerly that her mouth was open somewhat, andshe became motionless as a statue. 

"But what should stand in the first place, father?"

Darvid did not answer at once. What? What should stand in thefirst place?

"Duty, " said he. 

"What duty, father?"

Again he was silent a while. What duty? Yes, what kind of duty?

"Naturally the duty of labor, hard labor. "

The flush on Cara's face increased; she was all curiosity, alleagerness to hear her father's words. 

"Labor, for what, father, dear?"

"How? for what?"

"For what purpose? For what purpose? because no one labors forthe labor itself. For what purpose?"

For what purpose? How that child pushed him to the wall with herquestions! With hesitation in his voice, he answered:

"There are various purposes--"

"But you, father, for what are you working?" continued she, witheager curiosity. 

He knew very well for what purpose he wished now to undertake thegigantic labor of erecting a multitude of buildings for theresidence of an army, but could he explain that to this child?Meanwhile the dark eyes of the child were fastened on his face, urging him to an answer. 

"What is it?" said he. "I--labor gives me considerable, sometimesimmense profits. "

"In money?" asked she. 

"In money. "

She made a motion with her head, signifying that she knew thatthis long time. 

"But I, " began she, "if I wanted to work, should not know what towork for, I should not know for what object I could work. "

He laughed. 

"You will not need to work; I will work for you, and instead ofyou. ""Well, father!" exclaimed she, with a resonant laugh, "what can Ido? To worship, to love, is exaltation--duty is labor, but if Imay not labor, what am I to do?"

Again she opened her small hands with astonishment and inquiry;her eyes were flashing, her lips trembling. 

Darvid, with marks of disagreeable feeling on his face, reachedfor his watch. 

"I have no time, " said he; "I must go to the club. "

At that moment the servant announced from the antechamber, through the open door:

"Prince Zeno Skirgello. "

Delight burst forth on Darvid's face. Cara sprang up from herknees, and looking around, called:

"Puff! Puff! Come, let us be off! doggy. "

"Where is the prince?" asked Darvid, hurriedly. "Is he here, orin the carriage?"

"In the carriage, " answered the servant. 

"Beg him to come in, beg him to come in!"

In the delight which the unexpected arrival of the prince causedhim at that time, he did not notice the expression of regret onCara's face. Raising the little dog from the floor and holdinghim in her arms, she whispered:

"This is the third time, or the fourth--it is unknown which timeit is!" Darvid sprang toward her. 

"You may remain! You know the prince--"

"Oh, no, father, I flee--I am not dressed!"

Her white robe with blue dots had the shape of a wrapper, and herhair was somewhat dishevelled. With the dog on her arm she ran tothe door beyond which was darkness. 

"Wait!" cried Darvid, and he took one of the candles which wereburning on the desk in tall candlesticks. The prince was comingup the stairs slowly. "I will light you through the darkchambers. "

Saying this he walked with her to the second chamber, and whenpassing through that, she, while going at his side with the dogon her arm, and with her short step, which gave her tall form thecharm of childhood, repeated:

"This is the fourth time, perhaps--it is unknown how many timesit will be in this way!"

"What will be in this way?"

"Just when I begin to talk with you. Paf! something hinders!"

"What is to be done?" answered he, with a smile; "since yourfather is not a hermit, nor a small person on this world'schessboard. "

They went hurriedly, and passed through the second chamber. Theflame of the candle which Darvid carried cast passing flashes onthe gold and polish of the walls, and the furniture. These werelike tricky gnomes, appearing and vanishing in the silence, darkness, and emptiness. 

Darvid thought:

"How dark it is here, and deserted!" Cara divined this thought, as it were, and said:

"Mamma and Ira are invited to dine to-day at--"

She gave the name of one of the financial potentates, and added:

"After dinner they will come to dress for the theatre. "

"And thou?" inquired Darvid. 

"I? I do not go into society yet, and so far the doctor forbidsme to go to the theatre. I will read or talk with Miss Mary, andamuse myself with Puff. "

She stroked with her palm the silky head of the little dog. Darvid halted at the door of the third chamber, and gave Cara thelight, from the weight of which her slight arm bent somewhat. 

"Go on alone; I must hurry to the prince. "

She bent down to his hands, covered them with hurried, ardentkisses. With the flame of the candle before her rosy face, withthe dog at her breast, and the pale, golden hair pushed back onher shoulders, she advanced in the darkness. Darvid returnedthrough that darkness in the opposite direction, and when he hadpassed the two spacious chambers hastily, he felt in the twinkleof an eye as if from behind, from that interior, some weight hadbeen placed on his shoulders. He looked around. There was nothingbut vacancy, obscurity, and silence. 

"Stupid! I must have the house lighted!" thought Darvid, and hehurried into the study, where, with movements a little toovivacious, with a fondling smile, and with repeated declarationsthat he felt happy, he greeted the prince, a man of middle age, of agreeable exterior, affable and pleasant in speech. When theyhad sat down in armchairs, the prince declared the object of hisvisit, which was to invite Darvid to a hunt which was to takeplace soon on one of his estates. Darvid accepted the invitationwith expressions of pleasure, a little too prompt and hearty. Buthe was never so well able to measure his words and movements inpresence of those high-born people as in presence of others. Hefelt this himself, still he had not the power to refrain. Inpresence of them he found himself under the influence of one ofhis passions, and it carried him too far. The prince spoke of thesculptor, whose gifts he esteemed highly; the young man had gonedirectly from Darvid to him and told of all that he had heard, and what he had experienced. 

"I was really affected by your kindness toward this youthfulgenius, and am delighted that he found in you a patron somagnanimous. "

Darvid thought that in every case his arrows always struck themark. To that act of his he was surely indebted for this unusualvisit of the prince, and the invitation. With a smile, in whichhoney was overflowing, he said:

"That young man seems very ill. A visit to more favorableclimates might save him. I must try that he does not reject themeans which I shall offer him for that purpose. I foreseeresistance, but I shall do what I can to overcome it, out ofregard for art, and through good-will for a young man who, besides many sympathetic traits, has this on his side, that herejoices in the exceptional favor of Prince Zeno. "

Had he been able, Darvid would have kissed himself for thatphrase, he felt so well satisfied with it; especially when theprince answered with animation:

"This, in the full sense of the words, means speaking and actingbeautifully! You use the gifts of fortune in a manner trulynoble. "

"Not fortune, prince, not fortune!" exclaimed Darvid, "but ironlabor. "

"Such toilers as you are the knights of the contemporary world, "answered the prince, with vivacity; "the Du Guesclins and Cids ofthe present century. "

He rose and, while pressing the hand of that Cid, fixed again inhis memory the date of the hunt, which was not distant. PrinceZeno was an aristocrat of the purest blood, possessing a widepopularity which was fairly well deserved. 

Darvid was radiant. While accompanying the prince to the door ofthe antechamber he looked as if no coil of serpents had evercrawled up in his bosom, which was now beating with delight andwith pride. The prince halted still a moment at the door, as ifto recall something. 

"Pardon me an indiscreet question, but this interests meimmensely. Is there truth in the reports which are circulating inthe city, that Baron Blauendorf is to have the honor in the nearfuture of receiving the hand of your elder daughter?"

The expression of Darvid's face changed quickly, it became sharpand severe. 

"Were there any truth in the report, " answered he, "I should tryto destroy it together with the report. "

"And you would be right, perfectly right!" exclaimed the prince. Then he bent his lips almost to Darvid's ear and whispered:

"There is no Pactolus which such a young buck as Baron Emil wouldnot drink up. He is a genuine devourer of fortunes. He hasswallowed one already and the half of another. "

He laughed and added at once, with immense affability:

"I see your son frequently--that worthy Kranitski presented him ayear ago to us; I and my wife are very, very thankful. He issympathetic, handsome, and a highly intellectual young man, whodoes you honor. "

He went out. Darvid stood at the round table sunk in thought, with pins of irony in his smile and his eyes, with a cloud ofwrinkles between his brows. That young sculptor, the favorite ofPrince Zeno, with clothing almost in tatters, brought consumptionon himself unhindered, till a parvenu appeared with his money-bagand rescued the pocket of the aristocrat, receiving in return avisit and an invitation to hunt. "Behold the significance ofmoney! Almost infinite power--ha! ha! ha!"

Internal laughter bore him away, and in his brain sounded theword: "Wretchedness! Wretchedness!"

What was it specially that he called wretchedness? He was notclearly conscious himself of this, but the feeling of itpenetrated him. Again he heard the prince saying "that honestKranitski, " and a wave of blood rushed to his forehead. Everything that he had forgotten a moment earlier returned to hismind; the prince's voice roared in his ears: "That honestKranitski. " He repeated a number of times to himself, in ahissing whisper, "honest! honest!" And then he said:

"Wretchedness!"

That Baron Emil, the young buck capable of gulping down many aPactolus! And he was to possess the hand of his daughter, with aconsiderable part of that fortune won by iron labor. Is Irene inlove with him? But the baron is a vibrio and a monkey all in one. There is need to think over this family matter, lest a misfortunemight happen. He cast a glance at the door behind which wasdarkness, thick, silent, immovable. It resembled a window openedinto a great and impenetrable secret. 

"I must have the house lighted up, " thought he. At this moment heheard the dull rumble of a carriage in the gateway as it entered. He pressed the button of the electric bell. 

"Is that the lady who has come?"

"Yes, serene lord. "

"Tell the coachman to wait. He will take me to the club. "

When the servant opened the door the rustle of silk came in likethe sound of wind. Two long silken robes passed over the floor ofthe anteroom and farther on in the darkness of the chambers, which was dispelled by the light of the lamp, borne by theservant advancing in front of them. 

The glittering gnomes called forth by that light sprang along thegildings, polished walls, and furniture; ran out of the darkness, ran into it again; were lighted up and quenched on the inclinedheads, drooping lids, and silent lips of the two women in richarray and gloomy. 

CHAPTER II

Malvina Darvid was one of those women to whom old age is verytardy in coming, and whose beauty, modified in each season oflife, never leaves them. For this last she was indebted less tothe features of her face than to the immense charm of hermovements, her smile, her expression, her speech. She retainedyet the same pale, golden hair which she had years earlier, whichshe arranged high above her low forehead, calling to mind thestatues of Grecian women. In contrast with that hair, and herslightly faded but delicate complexion, shone, from under darkbrows, large eyes, also dark, with a very mild, warm expression, now bright, now tempered by a deep inevitable cloud ofpensiveness. In a robe covered with lace, in the glitter of astar of diamonds in the bright aureole of her hair, she greetedthe numerous acquaintances who entered her box at the theatre, with the affability and freedom of a perfect society lady. Shewas even celebrated in that great city for the qualities whichconstitute so-called society personages, and which, in those whoknew her past, roused a certain wonder. It was known to all thatthat past was very modest. Darvid in his youth, which was farless brilliant than his present, married a poor orphan, ateacher. But Malvina Darvid was of those women who need only agolden setting to sparkle like diamonds. She shone in the greatworld with a charm, an elegance, a power of speech which were thesame as if she had been its own daughter. She was radiant withsatisfaction, with serenity, often even with joyous animation, and only now and then did a slight wrinkle, with a barelydiscernible line furrowing her Grecian forehead, sink itself andcast on her face an expression of weariness, or the corners ofher lips, still red and shapely, drop downward and make thatoval, white, delicate face ten years older than it seemed to beusually. But those were only short and rare moments, after whichMalvina Darvid was again entirely flooded with the brilliancy ofher beautiful eyes, her splendid toilet, the sounds of hermetallic voice, warm and full of sweetness. She seemed barely afew years older than her elder daughter. Sometimes guests lefther box with the words:

"She is more beautiful than her daughter. "

And offener still: "She is more charming and sympathetic than herdaughter. "

Still nature had been no stepmother to Irene Darvid; but life, though so short thus far, had stamped on her exterior a markwhich, while it astonished and discouraged, repelled. 

If the younger sister seemed a living portrait of her mother, theelder recalled her father, with her high forehead, thin lips, and--a thing wonderful at such a tender age--the mark of ironydrawn over them. Her hair, too, like her father's, changed withfiery gleams of gold and bronze, while the pale complexion of herface, which was too long, was lighted by the frequent sharpglitter of her eyes, which, as those of her father, were notlarge, and had gray pupils with a cold glance, penetrating andreasoning. Her shapely form was somewhat too slender; her postureand movements too stiff and ceremonious. She passed in societyfor a haughty, cold, unapproachable, original, and even eccentricyoung lady. On the stage was presented a play which had beenpreceded by immense praise; in the theatre had collected all thatbore the name of high and fashionable society in the city. Theboxes were filled, except one, which only just before thebeginning of the second act was opened with a rattle and filledwith loud, free, and bold conversation. It was occupied by anumber of young men of elegant dress and manners; they, as itseemed, were connected by similarity in position, habits, andpleasures. Prom the higher to the lower rows of the theatre alleyes and glasses were turned toward that box, with its princes, young nabobs, sons of ancient families, or heirs to immensefortunes. Through boxes, armchairs, galleries, passed namesnotorious through deeds of originality, witty sayings, astonishing excesses; names interwoven with anecdotes about moneyand love-passages; the substance of the love-passages could berepeated only in whispers, while the amounts of money werementioned with eyes widely opened in amazement. Two among theseyoung men occupied public attention beyond others that winter:Baron Emil Blauendorf, and Maryan Darvid, both of familiesrecently, but greatly, enriched. The Blauendorf house was olderby some generations, and had become widely connected; on theother hand, their fortune in possession of the present descendantwas vanishing quickly; in comparison with the entirely newedifice of the Darvids, it seemed a ruin. On these two generalattention was concentrated with the greatest curiosity; forduring that winter and the preceding one the most numerousanecdotes touching them were in circulation among those whofrequented that theatre. They were so young, and still so noted!But Baron Emil was considerably older than Maryan; he was thirtyand little favored in looks. Small, weakly, with red, closely-cuthair, with features which were too small, and injured by a fadedcomplexion, with small eyes, which, because of nearsightedness, were either covered with eyeglasses, or blinked at the light frombehind yellow lids, which gave them an expression of pride andweariness. An unshapely exterior, unimposing, slight, bent, sickly. But through those small, yellowish, thin hands had passedalready the fortune of the old baron, who was dead some years, and now a second fortune was passing through them--a fortune leftscarcely a year before to her son by the baroness, who was famousfor her idolatrous love of him. People looked, and wondered howsuch a great river of gold could flow through a creature so smalland insignificant. With Maryan it was different. He astonishedalso, but he roused general sympathy. Such a child! And such aperfectly beautiful fellow at the same time! He was not twentythree years of age yet; of fine stature; his manners were elegantand pleasing; he had the head of a cherub, with bright curlinglocks; a noble fresh face from which gazed eyes as blue asturquoise; and wise, too wise, perhaps, in so youthful acountenance, for these eyes seemed not to confide but to jeer, orto be wearied and seeking something through the world withoutfinding it. Women whispered into one another's ears that thatlad, when in England, had joined the Salvation Army; but after hehad remained a short time in its ranks, he became, in Paris, amember of the Hashish Club, and brought away the habit of usingnarcotics to rouse dreams in himself and unusual conditions. Ifthe city at that moment had temporary possession of BiancaBianetti it was thanks to that lad, who, in a remote land, hadwon the heart of the singer. Some insisted that he had spentfabulous sums on her; others contradicted, declaring that notBianca, the singer, had consumed them, but Aurora, that notedAmazon of the circus, for whose favor princes of blood royal hadstriven in various capitals. That shapely little nabob had come, seen, and conquered; and when he had got his prize at anincredible outlay, he threw it aside and brought home Bianca. Butis that all that may be told of him? He and Baron Emil arefountains of histories of this sort. The baron is considerablyolder, but this lad has a father. That father himself is a sourceof unbounded credit. Young Darvid has as many debts as there aregolden curls on that cherub head of his. What will his papa say?What? Not long since that papa returned from the ends of theearth, after a long absence; will he put an end to the tricks ofthe boy? will he be able to do so? The white forehead of theyouth has an expression of maturity, and at times of somethingelse--namely, weariness--and in his blue eyes gleams of firmness, resolve, and contempt. He looks as if he despised the whole worldthen. He and the baron occupy themselves much with art andliterature. They expend almost as much on art as on women andjoyous suppers. They are highly cultured. The baron plays like anartist; Maryan translates poetry into various languages. In thebox were a number of others resembling these two, but the othershad places elsewhere in the theatre: they had come for a brieftime and left the box afterward, then there remained only thebaron and young Darvid. Behind their chairs sat some third man, very quietly, as if to attract the least attention possible. Thiswas Pan Arthur Kranitski. People were accustomed to see him hereand elsewhere with these two young men, and with others also, butwith these two most frequently; his hair curled, freshened; hisblack mustache, pointed at the ends above his red lips, in thefashion of young men. But to-day he looks considerably moreretiring and older than usual. With much bold conversation, withlaughter which cast his head back, with movements full of graceand animation, he generally strove to equal, and did equal, thosetwo young nabobs, whose Mentor he seemed to be, and at the sametime their comrade and continual guest, as well as their graciousprotector. This time he was weighed down and gloomy, with spotson his aged forehead. He was sitting in a corner of the box, turning his attention neither to the play nor the audience; and, what was more, not striving to attract the attention of anyone. But from behind the shoulders of the young men in the front ofthe box, his hand, as if directed by an irresistible impulse, turned the opera-glass, from moment to moment, toward MalvinaDarvid. He felt that he ought not to look so persistently at thatwoman with the gleaming star above her forehead, so he droppedhis hand to raise it again and turn it in the same direction. Asif imitating Kranitski, though really he did not even think ofhis existence, Baron Emil was acting in the same way withreference to Irene, gazing through his opera-glass at her face, which showed indifference and even weariness. He did this with aperfect disregard for the rest of the audience, and beginning atthe second act, with an insolence which might have confused orangered another woman. But Irene, indifferent for some time, raised her glass also, and turned it on the baron. With theseglasses the two people brought their faces near each other; theylooked each other straight in the eyes, separated themselves fromthe audience, and gazed from the height of their two boxes infull disregard of everything happening around them. These twoopera-glasses, planted in permanent opposition, attract theattention of all; but Irene and the baron do not heed that, donot care to know anything what ever about the audience, or thelove scenes and tragedy represented in that theatre. They gazelong at each other with such indifference that one might ask. Whydo they do that? Perhaps because it is original, perhaps to rousethe curiosity or the censure of the audience. But, after a longtime, there appeared on their faces a jeering, self-willed smile, with a tinge of friendly comradeship, mixed in the baron's casewith a passing gleam of the eyes; and in Irene's a pale flush, which covered her lofty forehead for a moment and then vanished. Dropping his hand with the opera-glass the baron turned toMaryan: "Tres garconniere ta soeur!" said he. "She is bold andlooks down on every thing; she is disenchanted. Une desabusee!Very interesting, and grows more and more so. "

"Does she rouse a new shiver in you?" laughed Maryan. 

"Yes, an entirely new shiver. That is a type of woman which isbarely beginning. Twenty years old, and a perfectly distinctindividuality! Twenty years old, and knows painted potsthoroughly!"

"That is a family trait with us, " retorted Maryan. 

"Your mother, " continued the baron, "has undying beauty. Suchsplendid hair and eyes! But hers is another type entirely. "

"A past one, " put in Maryan. 

"Yes, that is true, a past type, a simple one. But Panna Irene isnew and intricate; yes, that is the word, intricate! We are allintricate now, full of contrasts, dissonances, and vexations. "

In the theatre a thunder of applause was heard. The two young menlooked at each other and laughed almost loudly. 

"What are they playing?" asked the baron, indicating the stagewith his head. "Ma foi! I have not heard one word. "

"Well old man, " said Maryan, turning to Kranitski, "what are theydoing on the stage?" Kranitski dropped his hand with theopera-glass quickly and blurted out:

"What is the question, Maryan?" His eyes, which were fine yet intheir prolonged lids, were glazed with a tear. 

"Ho, ho! romantic, there is a tear in your eye. The subject mustbe affecting! Let us listen!" They began to listen, but quitedifferently from others. When passions exhibited on the stagequickened the beating of all hearts, or poetry, pulsating inlofty words, brightened faces with enthusiasm, Maryan and thebaron laughed inattentively and with contempt; when stupidity, selfishness, or wit called out laughter, or ridicule, they wereimmovable in cold importance, puffed up and insolent; when thecurtain came down at the end, and a deafening, prolonged thunderof applause was heard, their hands rested ostentatiously on theedge of the box. This opposition to the impressions and opinionsof the audience might seem a childish wish for distinction; butone could feel besides in it, a bold throwing down of thegauntlet to common taste, and an estimate of the various elementsand values in life directly in conflict with that of others. 

Toward the end of the last act Kranitski entered Malvina Darvid'sbox, and saluting each woman silently he stood motionless. Malvina bowed toward him slightly, then a shadow came out on herface; this shadow seemed to have torn itself from an internalcloud. She frowned--a deep wrinkle appeared on her forehead, thecorners of her mouth drooped somewhat, and her face, with thatbrilliant star in the aureole of bright hair above, had anexpression of pain when seen on the drapery of the box as abackground. 

But that did not last long. The box was filled with an assemblyof brilliant and agreeable men, one of whom, with his gray hairand bearing of an official, made a low obeisance before the wifeof Darvid, and seemed to lay at her feet smiles full of homage. Hence she grew affable, pleasant, vivacious, elegant in gestures, and in the modulation of her beautiful voice, she answeredpoliteness with politeness, requests with promises, and gaveopinions in return for questions touching the piece just played. 

Baron Emil meanwhile approached Irene and, indicating the excitedaudience with his eyes, inquired:

"How do those shouting Arcadians please you?"

Taking on her shoulders the wrap which he held for her, sheanswered:

"They are happy!"

"Why?"

"Because they are naive!"

"You have described the position famously!" cried he, withenthusiasm. "Only Arcadians could be so happy--"

"As to believe in those painted pots--"

"As their great-grandfathers did, " added he. 

"Who knows, " said she, as it were, with deep thought, "whetherthe great-grandfathers really believed in them, or only--"

"Pretended belief! Ha! ha! ha! Beyond price! excellent! How youand I converse, do we not? This is harmony!"

"Not without dissonance. "

"Yes, yes, not without vexation. But that is nothing. That evenrouses-"

During this interchange of opinions, which was like the glitterof cold and sharp steel, Kranitski, in the crowd which surroundedMalvina, was able to whisper to her:

"To-morrow at eleven. " Without looking at him, and with a quiverof her brows, which drooped a little, she answered:

"It is too early. "

"Absolutely necessary. A catastrophe! A misfortune!" whispered hein addition. 

She raised to him a glance which showed that she was tortured toher inmost soul by fear, but at the same moment Maryan gave herhis arm, and said:

"To be original, to edify the Arcadians, and to give myselfpleasure, I shall be to-day a virtuous son, conducting his ownbeautiful mamma downstairs!"

Adroit, with almost childish delight in his blue eyes, but with asarcastic smile which seemed to have grown to his lips, whichwere shaded by a minute mustache, this youth led through thetheatre corridor that woman not young, but whose beautiful andoriginal head, and whose rich toilet drew all eyes to her. 

"I am proud of you, dear mamma. To-day I have heard whole odessung in your honor; even Emil declares that you are eclipsingIrene with your beauty. "

She was smiling and also angry. Her dark gleaming eyes rose withlove to the shapely face of her son, but, striving to bedignified, she said:

"Maryan, you know that I am displeased at hearing you talk to mein such a tone. "

He laughed loudly. 

"Then, my dear mamma, you should grow old as quickly as possible, put on a cap, and sit in a jacket at the fireplace. I should befilled then with timid respect, and would hurry away with allspeed from such an annoying mamma!"

"But since I am not annoying you will be good and come home withus. We shall drink tea together. "

"Au desespoir, chere maman! But that cannot be. The rest of thisday, or night, I have promised to friends. "

"Is to-day the only time promised?" asked she, with a shade ofsadness. 

"For the true sage to-morrow and yesterday have no existence, "answered Maryan. 

They were at the open door of the carriage; Maryan bent andkissed his mother's hand. 

"Be not angry, mamma dear! But you are never angry. If there isanything on earth that I worship yet it is your marvelloussweetness of temper. "

"It is excessive, " answered Malvina. "If I only knew how todominate--"

He interrupted her, with a laugh:

"I should avoid you in that ease; but now, all relations betweenus are excellent, though they are constitutional or evenrepublican. "

"I go for anarchy!" put in Baron Emil, helping Irene to a seat inthe carriage. 

He spoke somewhat through his nose and teeth, it was difficult tosay whether by nature or habit, but that gave to his speech acharacter of contemptuousness and indolence. 

"But of dissonances to-morrow n'est ce pas?" asked he. 

"And of vexations!" concluded Irene with a smile, wherewith herhand remained on the baron's palm a few seconds longer than wasnecessary. 

Soon after, Malvina Darvid was sitting at a small table coveredwith a tea service, in a study which was like the lined andgilded interior of a costly confectionery box. Massive silverartistically finished, expensive porcelain, exquisite tid-bits, enticing the eye by their ornamentation, and the taste by theodor from them, tempered, however, by the strong fragrance ofhyacinths, syringa, and violets which were blooming at the windowand the walls, and on largo and small tables everywhere. 

The dress worn at the theatre was replaced now by a wrapper, composed of lace and material soft as down. Her posture in thelow and deep armchair, the very manner even in which she arrangedthe folds of her robe seemed to exhale the luxury of rest; buther mind was at work, and filled her eyes with an expression ofdisquiet. 

"'Catastrophe! Misfortune!' What could that be?" Marks of painhad begun to wind around her mouth; her hands were firmly claspedon her knees. "It may be that lost letter? A man must have a headfilled with exaltation, and a character as weak as Kranitski's towrite such a letter. It may be--it is even sure to be so, forduring a number of days she has felt in the air a catastrophe. But if?--Well! Is that a misfortune? Oh, rather the opposite?"The supposition that the dark, grievous truth of her life mightbe discovered by him who would seek vengeance because of itroused no fear in her; it caused her to hope for a thingdisagreeable and yet desired. Let that horrid knot in which herlife was involved be untied or torn apart sometime, in any waywhatever. Alone she would never have strength to untie or to cutit, she is such an eternally weak, weak, weak creature! And stillanything would be better than the present condition. 

Two glittering tears rolled slowly down her cheeks; above thedrooping eyelids a deep wrinkle cut a dark line across herforehead. The diamond star flashing rainbow gleams from her hair, and the flowers, which dotted the room thickly with their palecolors, gave a background of wealth to that woman's life tragedy. 

With a teacup in her hand Irene stood in the opposite door andlooked at her mother uneasily, keenly, with such attention thather eyelids blinked repeatedly. Far from her now were those dryand sneering smiles in conversation with the baron. But shepassed through the room calmly and sat in front of her mother. 

"It seems that the play of to-night did not amuse you much, mamma. " She looked into the teacup so steadily that she could notsee her mother's tears or expression of face. But that face grewbright on a sudden and was covered with an unrestrained smile. 

"Is Cara sleeping?" inquired she. 

"Of course; her room is quite silent, and so is Miss Mary's. Whydo you not drink tea, mamma?"

Malvina raised the spoon slowly to her lips, and Irene began tospeak calmly:

"I heard very unexpected news to-day. It seems that father hastold Prince Zeno, who inquired about the matter, that he will notconsent to my marriage with Baron Blauendorf. "

"Why call that news unexpected?" asked Malvina, looking at herdaughter. 

Irene shrugged her shoulders slowly. 

"I did not suppose that father would devote his precious time tothings so trivial. This is unexpected and may bring trouble. "

"What trouble?" inquired Malvina, with alarm. 

"Father's opinions and mine may be in opposition. "

"In that case your opinion will yield. "

"I doubt that. I have my plans, my needs, my tastes; of thesefather can know nothing. "

They were silent rather long; during this time Malvina raised hereyes to her daughter repeatedly, with the intent to saysomething, but she was unable, or at least she hesitated. At lastshe inquired in irresolute, almost timid, tones:

"Irene, do you love him?"

"Do I love the baron?"

These words coming from the lips of the young girl expressedimmense astonishment. 

"If Baron Emil should hear that question he would be the first tocall it Arcadian or great-grandfatherly. " And she laughed. "Thatis one of those things which do not exist, or which, at least, are changeable, temporary, dependent on the state of the nervesand the imagination. I have a cool imagination and calm nerves. Ican do without painted pots. "

As these words came slowly and coldly from the lips of herdaughter, Malvina straightened herself, and her face was coveredwith a faint blush. She had preserved the rare, and at her ageeven wonderful, faculty of blushing. 

"Ira!" cried she, "I hear these opinions not for the first time, and they give me such pain!"

She clasped her hands. 

"Love, sympathy, when a choice is made--"

The voice broke in her throat all at once. Her eyelids drooped;her shoulders fell back on the chair; she was silent. 

Irene laughed and made a gesture of despair with her hands. 

"What can I do with the situation?" began she in a jesting tone. "It was not I who made this world, and cannot reconstruct it. Imight like to do so, perhaps, but I cannot. " Then she grewserious, and continued: "Love and sympathy may be very charming. I admit even that most assuredly they are when they exist; butusually if they exist it is for a short period, they flash up andquench--a few years, a few days, most frequently only days, andthey pass--they are as if they had never been. Why illusions, when after them disenchantment must conic? They merely causeuseless exertion in life, disappointment, and suffering. "

Irene's words and sententious, hard tones were in marvellouscontrast with the maiden-roundness of her arms, which were barein the broad sleeves of her dressing-gown, with the fresh red ofher delicate lips, and the gleam of her blue eyes. 

"Besides, " added she, "I feel a sympathy for the baron; a certainkind of sympathy. " Malvina, after a moment's silence, asked in alow voice:

"What kind of sympathy is it?"

After a little hesitation Irene answered with a harsh, abruptlaugh:

"What kind of sympathy? A kind very common, it seems knownuniversally. Sometimes his way of looking at me, or his pressureof the hand, moves me. But he pleases me most by his sincerity;he makes no pretence. He has never told me, like those three orfour other suitors of mine, that he loves me. He has for me, as Ihave for him, a certain kind of sympathy; he considers mefinancially an excellent match, and for these two reasons hewishes to share with me his title of baron, and his relationshipwith certain families of counts and princes. And as I, on mypart, need independence at the earliest, and my own house, so onething for another, the exchange of services and interests isaccomplished. We do not hide from each other these motives ofours, and this creates between us sincere and comrade-likerelations, quite agreeable, and leading to no tirades or elegiesin which there is not one bit of truth, or to any exaltation ordespair which has no title to the future. This is all. "

"Ira!" whispered Malvina after a long silence. 

"What, mamma?"

"If I could--if I had the right--" Both were silent. 

"What, mamma?"

"If I could believe in spite of--"

The gilded and artistic clock ticked among the pinks and lilies:tick-tack, tick-tack. 

"What is it, mamma?"

"A cake, Ira!"

As Irene took a cake from the silver basket with her tremblinghand, she cried, with glad laughter:

"At last you will eat even a cake! You have changed immensely, mamma. I cannot call you now as I once did, a little glutton, since for some time past you eat so little that it is nearlynothing. "

Malvina smiled fondly at the name which on a time her daughterhad given her jestingly, and Irene continued in the same tone:

"Remember, mamma, how you and I, with one small assistant inCara, ate whole baskets of cakes, or big, big boxes ofconfectionery. Now that is past. I notice this long time that youeat almost nothing, and that you dress richly only because youmust do so. At times, were it possible, you would put onhaircloth instead of rich silks, would you not? Have I guessedrightly?"

While a faint blush covered her forehead and cheeks again, Malvina answered:

"Rightly. "

Irene grew thoughtful; without raising her eyes to her mother sheinquired in a low voice:

"What is the cause of this?"

"Returning currents of life are the cause, " answered Malvinaafter a rather long silence, and she continued, thoughtfully:"You see, my child, currents of a river when once they havepassed never come back again, but currents of life come hack. Myearly youth was poor, as you know, calm, laborious, brightened byideals, from which I have deviated much! That was long ago, butit happened. In life so many years pass sometimes, that eventswhich precede those years seem a dream, but they are real andcome back to us. "

Irene listened to this hesitating, low conversation with droopingeyelids and forehead resting on her hand. She made no answer. Malvina, sunk in thought, was silent also. 

A few minutes later the tea things vanished from the table, removed without a sound almost, and borne out by the youngwaiting-maid. 

With eyelids still drooping, as if she were finishing an ideacircling stubbornly in her head, Irene said with pensive lips:

"A haircloth!" She rose then, and, suppressing a yawn, said: "Iam sleepy. Good-night, mamma, dear!" She placed a brief kiss onher mother's hand: "Shall I call Kosalia?"

"No, no! Tell her to go to sleep. I will undress myself and go tobed unattended. "

"Good-night!"

Stepping quietly along the carpet Irene passed out. Malvinafollowed the young lady to the door with her eyes, and the momentshe was alone she threw her arm over her head, turned her faceupward, and repeated a number of times, audibly: "God! God!" Thenshe rested her elbows on the arms of the chair, covered her facewith both palms, the broad sleeves of her dress fell from herarms like broken wings. Thus, altogether motionless, she droppedinto an abyss of regrets, reminiscences, and fears. The nightflowed on. The clock among the flowers in that study struck thefirst hour after midnight, then the second hour, and each time inthe darkness of the drawing-rooms another clock answered in toneswhich were deeper and more resonant. The syringa and hyacinthsgave out a still stronger odor, though the cold increased in thatchamber. The frosty winter night was creeping in, even todwellings which were carefully heated, and was filling them withdarkness penetrated with cold; along Malvina's shoulders, whichwere bent over the arm of the chair, shivers began to pass. 

In the darkness and cold a slight rustle was heard, and on thebackground of this darkness, in the doorway, appeared Irene. Shewore a short, embroidered dress of cambric, and her fiery tresseswere on her shoulders. She stood in the doorway with neckextended toward her mother, then walking in soft slipperssilently she passed through the room like a shadow, and vanishedbeyond the opposite door. There was something ghostlike in thosetwo women; one passed, without the slightest rustle, by theother, who was sleeping in a low chair, without making the leastmovement. Outside that mansion the streets of the city wereentering into a deeper and longer silence. 

The clock in the study struck three, in the darkness threestrokes, remote and deep, answered. In the air the volatile andlanguid odor of syringas was overcome by the narcotic andstronger odor of hyacinths. The increasing cold flowed aroundthem with painful contrast. In the door, beyond which she hadvanished, Irene appeared again, just as silently as before. Shepassed through the room and placed a shawl upon her mother'sshoulders. Malvina, feeling the soft stuff, woke as if from adream. 

"What is this?" exclaimed she, raising her face, the cheeks ofwhich were gleaming in the light of the lamp; but when she sawher daughter she smiled with relief immediately. 

"That is you, Ira? Why are you not asleep?"

"I cannot sleep, and I came for the book which we began to readtogether. It is growing cold, so I brought a shawl. Good-night. "

She went aside but did not leave the room. She had no book in herhand; perhaps she was looking for it in the beautifully carvedease filled with books, for she opened the case and stood beforeit with arms raised toward the upper shelves, her hair lyingmotionless on the white cambric covering her shoulders. 

Malvina was looking at her daughter, in her eyes was impatience;she was waiting for her to go. 

"Is it late?" asked she. 

"Very late, " answered Irene, without turning her head. 

"Does Cara cough to-night?"

"I have not heard her cough to-day. " Malvina rose, but totteredso much that she was forced to rest her hand on the edge of thetable. She seemed greatly wearied. 

"Go to sleep. Good-night!" said she, passing her daughter. 

Irene looked at her tottering step and followed her quickly anumber of paces. 

"Mamma!" cried she. 

"What, Ira?"

Irene stood before her mother a moment, her lips were quiveringwith words which she withheld, till she bent, kissed her mother'shand gently, and said in her usual manner:

"Good-night!"

Then she stood a while longer before the open case, listening tothe rustle made by her mother while going to bed, and when thathad ceased she closed the case and moved quietly into thedarkness behind the outer door. 

At that same time a carriage thundered in the silence and passedthrough the gateway. Restrained movement rose in the antechamberfrom which one servant ran out into the dimly lighted stairway, and another rushed to the study and bedroom of the master of themansion to increase quickly the light of the lamps there. Darvidwent up the stairs quickly and with sprightliness; he threw intothe hands of the servant his fur, which was costly and original, since it was brought from the distant North, and began at once toread at the round table, through an eyeglass, that which he hadjotted down recently in his pocket notebook. The book was inivory binding with a gold monogram, and a pencil with a goldcase. While reading Darvid put a brief question to the servant:

"Has Pan Maryan returned?"

The answer was negative. Large and heavy wrinkles appearedbetween Darvid's brows, but he continued to read his notes. Almost a quarter of an hour later he wrote something more whilebending over the desk, and standing. Soon in the bedchamber, furnished by the most skillful decorator of the capital, anight-lamp on the mantel of a chimney illuminated a bed adornedwith rich carving; a white and lean hand stretched out on a silkcoverlet, and a face also, which was like ivory, and shining withtwo blue sleepless eyes, keenly glittering. Darvid cast aninattentive glance through the room, over which, in the palelamplight, two beautiful female heads seemed to hover, reflectedand multiplied in mirrors standing opposite each other. This wasa most beautiful work--a genuine Greuze. To win this masterpieceDarvid outbid a number of men of high standing; he triumphed andwas delighted. But now his sleepless glance passed over thatpearl of art inattentively. His night at the club instead ofdiverting and calming had bored and irritated. His honorablepartner was annoying, and rude in addition. Never would he haveforced himself to play with the man, had not that relation beenan honor, and--what was more--had it not been needful. Women say:one must suffer to be beautiful; men need to change only the lastword and say: one must suffer to be powerful. But that wasbeginning to be repulsive, and, above all, to be wearisome. Onlywhen in bed did he feel that he was weary. He could not sleep. Hehad slept badly for some weeks--since the time of that wretchedletter. At thought of that letter the serpents stirred inDarvid's breast, but he shut them down in their den by hissing:"Stupidity!" And he fell into long and uneasy thought about thatman whom he had sent on weighty business, but who had notreturned yet. 

Perhaps chance will not favor him this time, and another handwill seize the field of action and the great profits. He knowsthat he has enemies and rivals who envy, who undermine him. Well, he will win also in this case, only he would like somethingafterward--what? He himself does not know what--perhaps rest. Togo for a time to Switzerland or Italy. For what purpose? He isnot over curious about art and nature, he has no time to fall inlove with them. Without occupation he would be bored in allplaces, and besides he must finish these family questions. Hemust tame Maryan, and hinder Irene's marriage to the baron. He isfighting a battle with his own son and daughter. Cara is the onlyone with whom he has no trouble. She is mild and beautiful. Herhead is turned also, but in another, a more agreeable direction. She is greatly attached to him, the dear child! She is frail. Hemust speak to the doctor about her. Perhaps send her to Italy. With whom? With her mother? He would never permit that. The childis his. He will go himself with Cara. But in that case what willbecome of his enterprise?

In the interior of the mansion were heard deep, metallic sounds. The clock struck five. 

In that same mansion, at the distant end of it, in a chamberlighted by a blue night-lamp, was heard a low, dry cough, and afrail, tall maiden, in night-clothing covered with lace, sat upin a blue and white bed. 

"Miss Mary! Miss Mary!" cried she, with fear in her voice. 

From the adjoining chamber came a voice of agreeable tone andsomewhat drowsy:

"You are not asleep, Cara?"

"I have slept. The cough woke me, but that is well, for I had adreadful dream. I dreamed that papa and mamma--"

She stopped suddenly, and, though no one was looking at her, shehid her delicate face in the blue coverlet. So only in a whisperdid she tell the end of her dream:

"They were angry at each other--so awfully angry--Ira put herarms around mamma--Maryan went away hissing. I hung to papa, andcried so, and cried. "

In fact her eyes were then filled with tears from the dream. Butshe stretched in the bed, and, with her head on the pillows, thought, till she called again:

"Miss Mary! Are you sleeping?"

"No, dear; do you wish anything?"

Cara began in a loud voice:

"I wish immensely, immensely, Miss Mary, to go with you toEngland, to your father and mother. Oh, how I should like to bein that parsonage a while, where your sisters teach poor childrenand nurse the sick, and your mother makes tea at the grate foryour father when he comes home after services. Oh, Mary, if youand I could go to that place! It is so pleasant there. " In theblue light and in the silence her thin voice recalled thetwittering of a lark. 

"We will go there sometime, dear. Your parents will permit, andwe will go. But sleep now. "

"Very well, I will sleep. Good-night, Miss Mary--my dear, goodMiss Mary. "

She lay some minutes quietly thinking, till she sat up again inbed coughing. When the cough had passed, she called in a lowvoice:

"Miss Mary! Miss Mary!"

There was no answer. 

"She is sleeping, " whispered Cara, and after a while she lookedaround, and, in a lower voice, called:

"Puffie! Puffie!"

At this call the little dog sprang from a neighboring chair, andin the twinkle of an eye was on the bed. 

Cara stroked the silken coat of the dog, and bending toward himwhispered:

"Puffie! Puffie! dear, little dog! lie here, sleep for thyself!"

She put him on her breast almost at her chin; with her hand onhis coat, and with the whisper: "Puffie! good Puffie!" she fellasleep. 

Then was heard the sound of a drozhky, coming quickly, withuproar in front of the house, and again there was an end tovoices and movement. Two men ascended the stairway, one mucholder than the other, with a carefully brushed, but somewhat wornhat, in a fashionable but somewhat worn fur. He spoke in a lowvoice:

"Yes, yes! c'est quelque chose d'inoui! he commanded me to breakoff all relations with you, and to stop visiting his house. "

"A thousand and one nights! Why is it? What is it for?" exclaimedthe other. 

Suddenly he stopped part way on the stairs, and asked with a halfjeering, half pitying look at his companion:

"If he should find out?"

Kranitski turned his face away. 

"My Maryan--with you--of that--"

"Painted pots!" laughed Maryan. "Do you take me for mygreat-grandfather? Well, has he found it out?"

With red spots on his cheeks and forehead Kranitski blinkedaffirmatively. 

"Sapristi!" imprecated Maryan, and immediately he laughed again. "And why? for what reason? Did he also believe in painted pots? Ithought him modern. "

"Alas!" sighed Kranitski. 

They advanced in silence, passed the first story of the house. Maryan's bachelor chambers were on the second story. 

"My dear old man, I am sorry for you, enormously sorry, " beganyoung Darvid again. "I have grown so accustomed to you. You willhave to suffer, and poor mamma, too. Where did he get all this? Aman of such sense! I thought that his head was betterventilated--"

He could not finish, for Kranitski threw himself on his neck atthe very door of his apartments. He wept. Drying his eyes withhis perfumed cambric handkerchief, he said:

"My Maryan, I shall not survive this blow! I love you all somuch--you are--for me--as a younger brother--"

He tried to kiss him, but Maryan broke away from his embrace, andhis tears, the moisture of which he felt on his face, withdiscomfort. 

"But it is absurd!" exclaimed he. "Are we to break our relationsbecause they displease someone? Are we slaves? Laugh at that, mydear. Come to me as before, but pass the night now with me, forit would be difficult for you to go home at this hour. "

He touched the button of the electric bell, and when the dooropened at once, he said to his companion on the threshold:

"Bianca sings that aria from the 'Cavalier' gloriously, does shenot? La, la, la----"

He tried to give the music, but his voice failed. So hedisappeared behind the closing door, humming the aria of thesplendid singer which he had just heard at supper. 

Below, two clocks, one after the other, sounded out six. Throughthe great windows light began to enter from the snow-coveredstreets. That seemed the gradual and slow drawing aside of a darkcurtain, from behind which came out with increasing distinctness, furniture, pictures, mirrors, candlesticks, vases, rugs, plushes, velvets, polish, gilt, mosaics, ivory, porcelain. Until allstanding forth in the full light of that winter morning beganlike a pearl shell to interchange various colors and lustres, andto drop from the walls and ceilings reflections of gold on theshining floor. 

CHAPTER III

Kranitski ascended a carpeted stairway, which was adorned withlamps and statues. His fur coat with a costly collar was overworn somewhat; his hat was shining; his step free, and there wasa cheerful smile under his mustaches, which were turned up at theends carefully. The stairway was almost a street. People werepassing up and down on it, and whenever you met them and caughttheir eyes you noted freedom, self-confidence, elegance; you sawthe eleventh commandment of God, which Moses, only through someinconceivable forgetfulness, neglected to add to the Decalogue. 

Entering the antechamber he threw the servant his fur, from whichissued the odor of excellent perfumes. From the pocket of hiscoat peeped the edge of a handkerchief. He arranged before amirror his hair, thick yet above his forehead, but showing frombehind a small, circular, bald spot. Hat in hand, and with aspringy, self-confident tread, he entered the drawing-room. Onlytwo red spots above his brow interrupted the whiteness of hisforehead, which was slightly wrinkled; his eyes, usually gleamingor affable, were mist-covered. 

In a door, opposite that by which Kranitski entered, stood Irene, under a crimson drapery of curtains, with an open book in herhand. Kranitski, with that light-swaying of the body, with whichelegants are accustomed to approach ladies, approached Irene and, bending easily before her, kissed her hand. 

"May one enter?" inquired he, indicating with his eyes the doorof an adjoining; chamber. 

"I beg you to enter, mamma is in her study. "

The inclination of head, and sound of Irene's voice, containedonly that measure of cordiality which was absolutely demanded bypoliteness, but that was her way always and with every one. Coldradiated from her, and such indifference that it was sometimes acontemptuous disregard for people and things. But when Kranitski, hat in hand, passed two drawing-rooms she followed him with herglance, in which, besides disquiet, there was a kindly feeling, and more, perhaps, a feeling of pity. She was accustomed fromchildhood to see him; he was gentle, as ready as a slave torender service, as ready as a friend to oblige; he noted thewants not only of the lady of the house, but of each of herchildren. He had the subdued manner and pliancy of people who donot feel that they merit what they have, and are ever tremblinglest they lose it. He had, besides, the gift of readingbeautifully in various languages. For a number of years Irenecould not remember pleasanter evenings than those which, freefrom society demands, she had passed in her mother's study whenKranitski was present. Sometimes Cara and her governess took partin these domestic gatherings; sometimes, also, though more andmore rarely, they were enlivened by the presence of Maryan, who, in the intervals of reading, chaffed with his sister and mother, and argued with Kranitski about various tendencies in taste andliterature. Most frequently, however, Cara was occupied withlessons, and Maryan by society, and only she and Malvina, withartistic work in hand, listened in silence and thoughtfully tothat resonant, manly voice, which rendered masterpieces ofthought and poetry with perfect appreciation and feeling. Duringsuch evenings Irene was seized at moments by a dream of certaingrand solitudes, pure, surrounded by cordial warmth, remote fromthe uproar of streets, the rustle of silks, the noise of vainwords, whose emptiness and falsehood she had measured; butstraightway she said to herself: "Painted pots, ideals! thesehave no existence!" and she made a gesture, as if driving fromabove her head a beautiful butterfly, feeling convinced that thatbutterfly was merely a phantom. To-day, from minute observation, the conjecture rose in her that something uncommon had happened, and that something more must happen, also; she was colder andmore formal than ever, with a burning spark of fear in the depthof her blue, clear eyes. Her dress was of cloth, closely fitting, somewhat masculine in the cut of the waist, and on the top of herhead was a Japanese knot of fiery hair, pierced by a pin withsteel lustres. In her hand was an open book, and she walked alongslowly through the two spacious drawing-rooms. She did not raiseher eyes from the book, though she did not turn a page in it. Atone door she turned immediately, at the other, which was closed, she stopped for a few seconds when she caught the sound ofconversation, carried on beyond the door, in low voices, by twopeople. She did not wish to hear that conversation. Oh, she didnot! How long ago was it since she had striven to be deaf as wellas blind, and frequently so deal that no glance of the eye, nomovement of the face might betray that she had sight or hearing. But now, as often as a louder sound struck her ears from beyondthe closed door she stood immovable, and her eyelids quiveredlike leaves stirred by wind. For a long time it had seemed to herthat something terrible might happen in that house some day, something to which she would not be able to remain deaf andblind. Might it not happen just that day? With slow, even stepalong the gleaming floor, between purple, azure, and variousshades of white, which filled the drawing-rooms, she walked, inher closely-fitting dress, from one door to the other, her eyesfixed on the book, her manner colder, more formal than ever, herdelicate motionless face, above which the long pin threw outmetallic gleams. Suddenly an outburst of silver laughter washeard at another door. Till that moment two female voices hadbeen heard, speaking English, beyond this door, now thrown openwith a rattle. Golden strips of light, cast in by the winter sun, were lying on the purple and white of the drawing-room. Into thisdrawing-room rushed a strange pair; a maiden of fifteen, in abright dress, golden-haired, rosy, and tall, bent low; she heldby the forepaws a little ash-colored dog, and with him wentwaltzing around the furniture of the room, humming as she movedthe fashionable: La, la, la! La, la, la! A pair of small feet, inelegant slippers, and a pair of shaggy, beast paws, whirled overthe gleaming inlaid floor, around long chairs, tables, columnsholding vases; swiftly, swiftly did she go till she met Irene atthe door of the next drawing room. Cara raised the little dogfrom the floor, straightened herself, her eyes met the strangeglance of her sister. Irene blinked repeatedly, as if somedisagreeable light had struck her eyes. 

"Always so gladsome, Cara!"

"I?" cried the girl. "Oh, so! Puffie made me laugh--and--the sunshines so nicely. The day is beautiful, isn't it, Ira? Have younoticed how diamond sparks glitter on the snow? The trees are allcovered with frost. Let us go with Miss Mary for a walk. I willtake Puffie, but I will cover him with that blanket which Ifinished embroidering yesterday. Is mamma well?"

"Why do you ask about mamma?"

"Because, when I gave her 'good-morning, ' I thought that she wasill, she was so pale--pale. I asked her, but she said: 'Oh, it isnothing, I am well. ' Still it seems to me--"

"Let nothing seem to you!" Irene interrupted her almost angrily. "The surmises of children like you have no sense in them most ofthe time. Where are you going?"

"To father. "

She pointed with her eyes to her mother's rooms. 

"Is that--that man there?"

It was not to be discovered why she spoke in lowered tones, butIrene's voice sounded almost harsh when she inquired:

"What man?"

"Pan Kranitski. "

Now Cara's red, small lips, in the twinkle of an eye, formed acrooked line in spite of her; then, bending toward her sister, she said, almost in a whisper:

"Tell me, Ira, but tell the truth. Do you like thatman--Kranitski?" Irene laughed aloud, freely, almost as she hadnever laughed. 

"Ridiculous! Ah, what an amusing baby you are! Why should I notlike him? He is our old and good acquaintance. " And returning toher usual formality, she added: "Besides, you know that I do notlike anyone very much. "

"Not me?" asked Cara, fondly touching with her red lips the palecheeks of her sister. 

"You? A little! But go away. You hinder my reading. "

"I will go. Come Puffie--come!" And with the dog on her arm shewent off, but she stopped at the door, and turning to Irene, shebent forward a little, and said, in a low voice: "But I do notlike him--I do not know why this is. First I liked him, but forsome time I cannot endure him--I do not know myself why. "

At the last words she turned away, capriciously, and went on. 

"She does not know! does not know!" whispered Irene over herbook. "That is why she dances with the dog. What happiness inArcadian life!"

The little one, going on, began to hum again, but near the doorof her father's study she grew silent and stopped. The sound of anumber of men's voices in conversation reached her. She droppedher hand, and whispered:

"Father has visitors! What shall we do now, Puffie? How shall wego in there?"

After a moment's thought and hesitation she stepped in veryquietly under the drapery of the portiere, and in the twinkle ofan eye was sitting on a small, low stool which stood behind atall case of shelves filled with books, which, placed near thedoor, formed with two walls a narrow, triangular space. That wasan excellent corner, a real asylum which she could reachunobserved, and which she had selected for herself earlier. Thebooks on the shelves hid her perfectly, but left small cracksthrough which she could see everyone. Whenever there were guestswith her father she entered directly from the door, with onesilent little step she pushed in, waited longer than the guests, and when they were gone she could talk with her father. 

At the round table, which was covered with books, maps, andpamphlets, in broad armchairs were sitting, hat in hand, men ofvarious statures and ages. They had not come on business, but tomake calls of longer or shorter duration. Some were giving placeto others, who came unceasingly, or rather flowed in as wavefollows wave. Some went, others came. The pressing of hands, bowsmore or less profound, polite and choice phrases, conversation, interrupted and begun again, conversation touching important andserious questions of European politics, local questions of thehigher order, and problems of society, especially financial andeconomic. 

Darvid's voice, low but metallic, filled the study, it was heardby all with an attention almost religious; in general, Darvidseemed to ride over that ever-changing throng of men, by hisword, by his gestures, by his eyes, with their cold andpenetrating gleam, from behind the glasses of his binocle. He wasradiant with a certain kind of power, which made him what he was, and the world yielded to the charm of this power, for it createdwealth, that object of most universal and passionate desire. Hehimself felt all its might at that moment. When at the door ofthe study were heard, announced by the servant, names famousbecause they were ancient, others known for high office, or forthe reputation which science and mental gifts confer, heexperienced a feeling like that which a cat must feel whenstroked along the back. He felt the hand of fate stroking him, and the delight caused by this became very pleasing. He waseloquent, he was gleaming with self-confidence, judgment, andease of utterance. Not the least pride was to be observed in him, only the gleam of glory issuing from his smooth forehead, and themysterious sensation of apotheosis, which pushed an invisiblepedestal under the man, and made him seem loftier than he was inreality. 

At a certain moment a number of men entered, they seemed almostsunk in humility, and at the same time filled with solemnity. That was a delegation from a well-known philanthropic society inthe city; they had come to Darvid with a request to take part intheir work by a money contribution and by personal assistance. Hebegan by the gift of a considerable sum, but refused personalassistance. He had not the time, he said, but even had he time, he was opposed in principle to all philanthropic activity. "Philanthropy gives a beautiful witness touching those who engagein it, but it cannot prevent the misfortunes which torture therace; nay, it strengthens them needlessly, and offers premiums tosloth and incompetence. Only exertion of all forces in untiringand iron labor can save mankind from the cancer of poverty whichtortures it. Were there no help behind any man's shoulders, nohands would drop down unoccupied; each man would exercise his ownstrength, and misery would vanish from this earth of ours. "

Among those present, a guarded and immensely polite oppositionrose, however. 

"The weak, the cripples, lonely old men and children?"

"Philanthropy, " answered Darvid, "cannot stop the existence ofthese social castaways, it merely continues and establishesthem. "

"But they have hungry stomachs, sad souls and hearts--like ourown. "

"What is to be done, " inquired Darvid, with outspread palms whichindicated regret. "There must be victors and vanquished in theworld, and the sooner the latter are swept from existence thebetter for them and for mankind. "

A look of displeasure was evident on the faces of some, but theywere silent, the oldest man rose, and smiling most agreeably, ended the argument:

"But if philanthropy had many patrons like you its activity wouldcorrect the injustice of fate very frequently. "

"Let us not call fate unjust, " retorted Darvid with a smile, "because it favors strength and crushes incompetence. On thecontrary its action is beneficent, for it strengthens all that isworthy of life, and destroys that which is useless. "

"It has been just to you, and in this case we all owe itgratitude, " concluded the oldest man in the delegation, endingthe dispute hurriedly. Holding, meanwhile, Darvid's hand in histwo palms he shook it with a cordial pressure, and his gray head, and face, furrowed with wrinkles, were bent in a profoundobeisance. For those whom his honest heart pitied he carried agift so considerable that, in spite of words which were not tohis mind, the homage and gratitude which he gave came fromperfect sincerity. 

At last Darvid's study was deserted, and on his lips was fixed asmile which resembled a pricking pin. Why had he poured out sucha great handful of money for an object which to him wasindifferent, the need of which he did not recognize? Why? Habit, relations, public opinion, expressed orally, and by the printedword. A comedy! Misery! He frowned, the wrinkles between hisbrows were growing, when he heard a slight rustle behind. Helooked around, and exclaimed:

"Cara! How did you come in? Ah! you were sitting in the cornerbehind the books! Only a reed such as you are could squeeze inthrough that cranny! What is your wish, my little daughter?"

He smiled at his daughter, though his glance turned to the clockstanding in the corner of the room. But Cara, with seriousness onher rosy face, stretched out to him the little dog, which hadjust wakened and was still sleepy. 

"First of all, I beg father to stroke Puffie--Puffie is pretty, and he is good, stroke him just once, father. "

Darvid drew his palm a number of times, absent-mindedly, over theback of the dog. 

"I have stroked him. But now if you have nothing else to say--"

"I have no time!" added she, finishing her father's sentence. Shelaughed, and dropping Puff on the armchair, she caught her fatherin both her arms:

"I will not let you go!" cried she; "father must give me aquarter of an hour, ten minutes, eight minutes, five minutes, Iwill speak quickly, quickly. 'If I have nothing more to say. ' Ihave piles of things to say! I was sitting in the corner lookingand listening, and I don't understand, father, why so many mencome to you. When one looks at it all from a corner, it is sofunny! They come in and bow--"

Here she ran to the door and began with motions and gestures toenact that of which she was talking. Puff sprang after hismistress, and, stopping in the middle of the room, did not takehis eyes from her. 

"They come in, they bow, they press your hand, father, they sitdown, they listen. "

She sat on the chair in the posture of a man, and gave herdelicate features an expression of profound attention. Puff fixedhis eyes on her and began to bark. 

"Or in this way. " She changed her expression from attention togaping. Next she sprang up from the chair. Puff sprang up, too, and caught the end of her skirt in his little teeth. "They rise, they bow again, they all say the same things: I have the honor! Ishall have the honor! I wish to have the honor!"

She bowed man-fashion, knocking her heels together, and thenpushing apart her little, slippered feet, and Puff tugged at theedge of her dress, sprang away, barked repeatedly, and seized herdress in his teeth again. 

"Puffie, don't hinder me! Puffie, go away! Some go out, otherscome. Again: 'I have the honor! I wish to have the honor!'Puffie, go away! They press your hand, father. Oh, I have tiredmyself!"

Her breath had become hurried from quick motions and rapidspeaking, a bright flush covered her face, she coughed andcoughed again, she seized her father's arms. 

"Do not run away, father! I have much to tell you. I will talkquickly. "

Darvid had been standing in the middle of the room, and followingher quick movements with his eyes, at first with an indulgent, and then with a more gladsome smile. That child was beaming withexuberant life, with wit also, which had the power to penetratethings and people; a most delicate sensitiveness, which made heran instrument of many strings, and these never ceased quivering. She reminded him marvellously of Malvina in her youth. When shebegan to cough he caught her, and said:

"Do not hurry so; do not speak so much; talk less; sit downhere. "

"I have no time, father, to talk slowly--I cannot sit down--foryou will run away that moment. I must hold you and hurry. I wantyou to tell me why so many men come to you, and why you go totheir houses. Do you love them? Do they love you? Is it agreeableand pleasant for you in their company? What do they want? Whatcomes of these visits, pleasantness or profit? And whose profit, theirs or yours? or the profit of someone else, perhaps? What isall this for? Do not these visits remind you of the theatre?Though I have never been in the theatre. Here, as in the theatre, every man plays some part, pretends, puts on a face, does he not?Why does he do so? Do you like this, father? I beg you to tell, but only tell me everything, everything; for father, I want youto be my master, my light--you are so wise, so respected, sogreat!"

"Enthusiasm put sparks into her dark eyeballs which were turnedup to her father's face. Darvid stroked her pale, golden hair. 

"My dear child, " said he, "my little one!" After a while headded: "Are you a wild girl from Australia or Africa to ask mesuch questions? You have seen visits from childhood. Have you notseen your mother receiving many visitors, also?"

"Yes, yes, father; but mamma amuses herself with them, and istaking Ira into society. But what are visits to you? Are youamusing yourself, also?"

"How amuse?" laughed Darvid, "they annoy me oftenest of all, though an odd time they give me pleasure. "

"What pleasure?"

"You do not understand this yet. Relations, position in theworld, significance. "

"What do you want of significance, father; why do you wish for ahigh position in society? What profit does significance give?Does it give happiness? See, father, I know one littlehistory--Miss Mary's father, an English clergyman, has a parishin a poor, far-away corner, where there are no people ofsignificance, and no rich men, but there are many poor andignorant people there; and he has significance only among thosepoor people--that is, he has no significance whatever, still heis so happy, and all those people are so happy. They love oneanother, and live together. It is so warm and bright in thatpastor's house, there, among the old trees. Miss Mary came awayfrom there to get a little money for her youngest sister, whomshe loves dearly. She lives pleasantly here, but she yearns forher family, and has told me so much of them; and some time, father, I will beg you to let me go with Miss Mary to England, tothat poor country parish, and see that great, warm, brighthappiness which exists in it. "

Tears glittered like diamonds in her gleaming eyes, and Darvid, with his arm around her slender waist, stood silent, in deepmeditation. That child, by her questions, had let his thoughtsdown, as if by a string, to the bottom of things, at which he hadnever looked before--he had had no time. He might tell her thathigh significance in the world tickles vanity, flatters pride, helps, frequently, to carry business to a profitableconclusion--that is to pecuniary profit. He might confess tohimself, also, that that English clergyman, in his quietparsonage, under his ancient trees, seemed to him a very happyman all at once in that moment. After a while, he said:

"It must be so. Happiness and unhappiness are one thing for poorpeople, and another for the rich. "

He looked at the clock. 

"But now--"

"Now, I have no time!" laughed Cara. "No, no, father, two minutesmore, a minute more--I will ask about something else. "

"You will ask more!" exclaimed he, with such a laugh as he hadhardly ever given. 

"Yes, yes--something even more important than the last. I amtroubled about it--it pains me so--"

She changed from foot to foot, and embraced her father with allher strength, as if fearing that he might run away. 

"Did father mean really to say that one should not uphold thepoor, the hungry, the sorrowful, the sad, nor comfort them; thatit is only necessary to leave them so that they may die as soonas possible? When father said that I felt sick in some way. Mammaand Ira this long time support two old men, so gray and nice, whom Miss Mary and I visit often. Do mamma and Ira do badly?Should we let them die as soon as possible from hunger? Brrr! itis terrible! Does father think so really, or did he only say whathe did to get rid of those gentlemen the more quickly? Father youare good, the best, a dear, golden father. Do you really believewhat you said, or was it to get rid of those men? I beg you toanswer me, I beg you!"

This time her eyes were fixed on his face, with a gleam which wasalmost feverish, and again he stood in silence, filled withastonishment. Why could his mouth not open to tell that girl hisprofoundest conviction?

With all the wrinkles between his brows, he said, without asmile:

"I said that to get rid of them; I wished to be rid of thosegentlemen as quickly as possible. " The soles of Cara's feetstruck the floor time after time with delight. 

"Yes, yes! I was sure of that! My best, dearest father--"

Stroking her hair, he added:

"We must be kind. Be kind always. Keep the life in gray-haired, nice old men. You will never lack money for that. "

She kissed his hands; suddenly her glance fell on her father'sdesk, and she cried:

"Puffie! Puffie! where have you climbed to? There you are, youhave crawled on to the desk and done so much mischief!"The ash-colored little dog was on the great desk of thecelebrated financier, on the top of a huge pile of papers; he wassitting with his nose against a window pane, growling at crowsthat were flying past and cawing. In that study, which was sodignified as to be almost solemn, Cara's laughter was heard insilver tones:

"Look, father, how angry he is! He is angry at the crows! Oh, howhe sticks his little nose up when one of them flies past. Do yousee, father?"

"I see, I see! Never has such a dignified assistant been incharge of my desk. Oh, you little one!"

He put his arm around her and pressed her to his bosom, briefly, but heartily. Through his head passed at that moment therecollection of something unimportant which he had seen on atime: a golden sun-ray, which, flashing from behind clouds, hadtorn them apart, and disclosed a strip of clear azure beyond. Hesaw this through a window of a railroad car, mechanically, as wesee things to which we are indifferent. Now he remembered it. 

"The carriage is ready!" called the servant from the anteroom. 

"You are a little giddy-head, " said Darvid, looking at the clock. "I should have left the house a quarter of an hour ago. "

She ran to bring his hat, and gave it with a low bow. Stoopingquickly she raised a glove which he had dropped. 

"Don't forget to leave Puffie here to keep my papers in order!"

With this jest on his lips he went to the antechamber, but, whileputting on his fur and descending the stairway, he thought of theauction, where he was to buy a house sold for debt--an excellentinvestment. 

"Is Pan Maryan at home?" asked Darvid of the Swiss at the streetdoor. 

The Swiss learned from servants that the young master wassleeping yet. 

"What a miserable method of life! I must put a curb on this wildbuck immediately. Well, lack of time, a chronic lack of time!"

"Quickly! as quickly as possible!" called he to the driver, whileentering the carriage. 

He had left the house too late, his daughter had broken in on himwith her twittering and fondling--but she is a ray of sunlight!

Cara removed Puff from her father's papers, and, putting him onher breast, almost under her chin, as usual, passed through thedrawing-rooms hurriedly. She was late for her lessons with MissMary. In one of the drawing-rooms she passed Irene. The slowpromenade of the tall and formal young lady, with an open book inher hand, continued yet. Cara, while passing, and withoutstopping, said, with evident gladsomeness:

"But I talked long with father to-day, long. "

"You have done that trick!" answered Irene, indifferently. 

Cara stopped as if fixed to the floor. In the careless voice ofher sister she heard irony; she seemed ready for conflict; herbrows contracted suddenly; her eyes were full of sparks. ButIrene, absorbed in reading, was already a good number of stepsaway. After a few seconds, Cara vanished behind the door of herown room and Miss Mary's. 

Irene's features, rather meagre and elongated, continuedmotionless; her paleness increased their formality. But as timepassed, weariness settled the more deeply on her droopingeyelids. Whenever she passed a window of the drawing-rooms, thepin in her hair east quick, sharp gleams in the sunlight. 

At last the door of Malvina's room opened and out came Kranitski, quite different from what he had been at his arrival. Hisshoulders were bent; his head drooping; on his cheeks were redspots; his forehead was greatly wrinkled. He looked as though hehad been weeping a moment before. Even his mustaches were hangingin woefulness over his carefully shaven chin. Irene stopped, andwith the book in her two hands, which she had dropped, gazed atthe man approaching her. He hastened his step, took her hand, andsaid in a low voice and hurriedly:

"I am the most wretched of beings! I was not worthy of such greathappiness as--as--your mother's friendship, so I lose it. Je suisfini, completement et cruellement fini. I take farewell of you, Panna Irene--so many years! so many years! I loved you all sogreatly, so heartily. Some people call me a romantic old dreamer. I am. I suffer. Je souffre horriblement. I wish you everyhappiness. Perhaps, we may never meet again. Perhaps, I shall goto the country. I take farewell of you. So many, so many years! ODieu!" His eyelids were red; he was bent more than ever as hepassed out. On Irene's face great alarm appeared. 

"It is true, then. It is true!" whispered she. Springing forwardlike a bird she passed through the drawing-room, quickly andsilently. Invisible wings bore her toward the closed door of hermother's room; when entering, her manner was calm anddistinguished, as usual, but her eyes, in which there was anxiousconcern, beheld the form of a woman lying in a deep armchair, herface covered with her hands. Malvina was weeping in silence; hersobs gave out no sound, they merely shook her shoulders atregular intervals. These shoulders were drooping forward, and itseemed as though an unseen weight were crushing them to the earthand would crush them down through it. 

Irene hurried, silently; brought a vial from the adjoiningbedchamber, poured some liquid on her palm, and touched hermother's forehead and temples with it, delicately. Malvina raisedher face, which was deeply agitated by an expression of dread. Atthat instant one might have thought the woman feared herdaughter. But Irene, in her usual calm voice, said:

"Insomnia always harms you, mamma. Again you have that horribleneuralgia!"

"Yes, I feel a little ill, " answered Malvina in a weak voice. 

She rose, and tried to smile at Irene, but her pale lips merelyquivered, and her eyelids drooped; they were swollen fromweeping. With a step which she strove to make firm and steady shewent toward her bedroom. 

Irene followed some steps behind. 

"Mamma?"

"What, my child?"

Irene's lips opened and closed repeatedly; it seemed as thoughsome cry would come from them, but she only said in low tones:

"A little wine or bouillon might be brought?"

Malvina shook her head, advanced some steps, looked around:

"Ira!"

The daughter stood before her mother, but now Malvina in her turnwas speechless. She inclined her forehead, which covered slowlywith a blush; at last she inquired in a low voice:

"Is your father at home?"

"I heard him drive away some moments ago. "

"On his return, should he wish to see me, say that I am waitingfor him. "

"Very well, mamma. "

In the door she turned again:

"Should someone else come--I cannot--"

Irene halted a number of steps from her mother in the formalposture of a society young lady, and said:

"Be at rest, mamma; I shall not go a step away, and I shall notlet anyone interrupt you. Not even father if you wish--perhapsto-morrow would be better?"

"Oh, no, no!" cried Malvina, with sudden animation. "On thecontrary, as soon as possible--beg your father to come, and letme know at the earliest. "

"Very well, mamma. "

Malvina closed the bedroom door, advanced a few steps, and fellon her knees at her richly covered bed. Amid furniture, finishedin yellow damask, on a downy bed, covered with cambric and lace, she raised her clasped hands, and said, in whispers broken withsobs:

"O God! O God! O God!"

She was of those weak beings who to live need heartfelt love asmuch as air, and who are infected by this love without power ofresisting it. To such a love had she yielded once in the chilland emptiness of rich drawing rooms. That was a happening of longago; she was the weaker at that time because she was caught by abreeze from the spring of her life, passed in the company of thatman who was casting himself at her feet then. In that moment ofyielding a pebble had dropped on her, the weight of whichincreased with the course of years and the growth of herchildren. She had not thought for an instant that she was theheroine of a drama. On the contrary, she repeated, with a facealways blushing from shame: "Weak! weak! weak!" and, from a timerather remote, it was joined with another word, "Guilty. " She wasweak, still to-day she had found strength at last to cut one ofthose knots in which her life had been involved so repulsively. Oh, that the other might be torn apart quickly; then she could gofar from the world into lone obscurity, an abyss occupied only byher endless penitence. In her head a plan had matured. She wishedto speak with Darvid as soon as possible, and she doubted notthat in the near future he would agree with her. Her daughters?Well, was it not better that such a mother should leave them, vanish from their eyes?

Irene pushed to the window a small table, on which were paintingmaterials; she took her place at the table, and with fixedattention in her eyes began to outline a cluster of beautifulflowers. They were chrysanthemums, and seemed to be opening theirsnowy and fiery petals to mystic kisses. Deep silence reigned inthe mansion, and only after a certain time had passed did thesound of glasses and porcelain come from a remote apartment, andat the door of the study a servant appeared, announcing thatlunch was served. Irene raised her head from her work:

"Tell Panna Caroline and Miss Mary that mamma and I will not cometo the table. "

She added a command to bring two cups of bouillon and some rusks. A while later she stood with a cup in her hand at her mother'sdoor. 

"May I come in?"

She held her ear to the door; there was no answer. Her lidsblinked anxiously; she repeated the question, adding:

"Mamma, I beg--"

"Come in, Ira!"

Covered with silken materials Malvina was like a glittering waveon the bed. Irene entered with the bouillon and the rusks, thenslipped through the room quietly and let down the shades. A mildhalf-gloom filled the chamber. 

"This is better. Light when one has the headache is hurtful. " Shewent to the bed. "You cannot sleep in these tight boots, try asyou like, and without some hours of sleep the neuralgia will notleave you. "

Before these words were finished, her slender hands had changedthe tight boots for roomy and soft ones. She bent down, and witha touch of her fingers unfastened a number of hooks at hermother's breast. 

"Now, it will be well!" Irene dropped her arms on her dress andsmiled a little. Despite her fashionable robe and fantastichairdressing there was in her at that moment something of thesister of charity, she seemed painstaking and cautious. 

"And now, mamma, be a little glutton, " added she with a smile;"you will drink the bouillon and eat the rusk; I will go to paintmy chrysanthemums. "

She was at the door when she heard the call:

"Ira!"

"What, mamma?"

Two arms stretched toward her, and surrounded her neck; and lips, so feverish that they burnt, covered her forehead and face withkisses. Irene in return pressed her lips to her mother's foreheadand hand, but for a few seconds only, then she withdrew from theembrace with a gentle movement, moved away somewhat, and said:

"Be not excited, for that may increase the neuralgia. "

At the door she turned again:

"Should anything be needed, just whisper; you know what delicatehearing I have; I shall hear. I shall be painting in your study. Those chrysanthemums are beautiful, and I have a new idea aboutthem which interests me greatly. "

In the tempered winter light from the window, in that study fullof gilding, artistic trifles, syringas, and hyacinths, Irene satat the table with painting utensils, sunk in thought and idle. From beneath her brows, which had each the outline of a delicatelittle flame, her fixed eyes turned toward the past. She had inmind a time when she was ten years old, and was fitting a newdress on her doll with immense interest. At first she did notturn attention to her parents' conversation in the next chamber, but afterward, when the dress was fitted to the doll as if meltedaround it, she raised her head, and through the open door beganto look and listen. Her father, with a jesting smile, was sittingin an armchair; her mother, in a white gown, was standing beforehim, with such an expression in her eyes as if she were prayingfor salvation. 

"Aloysius!" said she, "have we not enough? Is there nothing inthe world except property and profits--this golden idol?"

"I beg you to consider that there is something else, " interruptedhe, with a slight hiss of irony; "this luxury which surrounds youand becomes you so well. "

Then she seated herself opposite him, and, bending forward, spokesomewhat quickly, disconnectedly:

"Do we live with each other? We do not by any means. We only seeeach other. There is nothing in common between us. You areswallowed up by business, I by society. I have taken a fancy, itis true, for amusement, but in the depth of my heart I am oftenvery gloomy. I feel lonely. My early life, as you know, wasmodest, poor, toilsome, and often it calls to me reproachfully. You do not know of this, for we have no time to exchange ideas. Iam of those women who need to feel guardianship, to have nearthem an ear which might listen to their hearts, and a mind whichwould direct their conscience. I am weak. I am full of dread. Ifear that in view of your frequent, almost continual absence, Ishall not be able to rear the children properly. I only know howto love them, I would give my life for them, but I am weak. I begyou not to leave me and them so frequently; that is, almostcontinuously--rather let this luxury decrease--I shall be glad, even, for the decrease will bring us nearer together. I beg you!"

She seized his hands, and it seemed as though she kissed them;but it was certain that the pale, golden wave of her dishevelledhair fell on them. Irene, though she was only ten years old then, felt pity for her mother, and waited with intense curiosity forher father's answer. 

"What do you wish in particular?" asked he. "I listen, I listen, still I do not know exactly what the question is. Is it this, that I should stop work, which I love and which succeeds with me?You must be in a waking dream. Those are ideas from anothersociety, mere childish fancies. "

 Here Irene's thoughts were interrupted by the entrance of Cara. 

"Ira, is mamma sick, since she did not come to luncheon?"

"Mamma has neuralgia often; you know that well. " Cara turned tothe door of her mother's bedroom, but Irene stopped her. 

"Do not go; she may be sleeping. " The girl approached her sister:

"It seems to me--" she whispered and stopped. 

"What seems to you a second time?"

"That there is something going on in this house--"

Irene frowned. 

"What an imagination you have! You are ever imagining somethinguncommon. Now all these uncommon things are painted pots, orillusions. Life rolls on always in a common, prosaic movement. Stop making painted pots, and go out to walk with Puff and MissMary. "

Cara listened attentively, but with an incredulous expression ofeyes, which were fixed on her sister's face. 

"Very well, I will go to walk, but what you have said is nottrue, Ira. It is not painted pots that mamma is suffering andsick, that father goes out to dine for a whole week, and does notcome to her at all; even that--man, going out to-day, began tocry in the antechamber--I saw him by chance--he wanted to saysomething to me, but I ran away--"

Irene shrugged her shoulders. 

"You will be a poetess, perhaps, you exaggerate everything soterribly. Mamma is not troubled, she only has neuralgia. Fatherdoes not dine with us because he has so many invitations, and PanKranitski struck his nose against something which you, in poeticimagination, took for crying. Men never cry, and sensible girls, instead of filling their heads with painted pots, go to walkwhile good weather lasts and the sun shines. The doctor tells youto walk every day, not in the evening, but about this hour. "

"I am going, I am going! You drive me away!"

She went on a number of steps, and turned again toward her aster:

"Father is angry at Maryan--I see that very clearly. Everythingin this house is, somehow, so strange. "

She went out, but Irene clasped her hands, and for some secondssqueezed them with all her might, and thought:

"That child will soon look at life just as I have been looking atit for some time past. It is necessary to foresee, absolutelynecessary!" She returned to her reminiscences. Her mother said toher father:

"Our fortune is now considerable. "

"In that direction, " answered her father, "it never can be toogreat, nor even sufficient. "

Then, playing with her beautiful hair, he asked:

"But do you believe that I love you?"

After some hesitation she answered:

"No. I have lost that faith, I lost it some time ago. "

Later there were many other words, some of which Ireneremembered:

"The very best guardianship in this world, " said her father, "iswealth. Whoso has that will never lack mind, even; since, in easeof need, he can buy mind from other men. 

"In the training of our children you will expend all that isrequisite. You will rear for me our daughters to be grand ladies;will you not? Educate them so that when mature they may feel asmuch at home in the highest social circles as in their ownfather's household. As to you, amuse yourself, make connections, dress, be brilliant. The more you elevate the name which youbear, by beauty, wit, knowledge of life, the more service willyou render me in return for the services which I render you. Besides, if you have any difficulty with the house, withteachers, with social relations, you have that honest Kranitski, who will serve you with great good will. I am very much pleasedwith that acquaintance. Just such a man did I need. He hasextensive and very good connections; he is perfectly well-bred, obliging, polite. Foreseeing that he might be very useful to us, I became familiar with him. It is true that he has borrowed moneya number of times of me, but he has rendered a number ofservices. Pay in return for value, that is the best method. "

He walked up and down through the room repeatedly; on hisforehead, in his look, in his movements, he had an expression ofperfect confidence in himself, his rights, and his reason. Suddenly, turning toward the door of remoter rooms, he cried withdelight:

"Speak of the wolf, and he is before you! I greet you, dear sir. "

With these words he extended his hand to the guest who wasentering. This was Kranitski, at that time in his highest manlybeauty; petted, and a favorite in the best social circles becauseof it, and for other reasons also. 

He gave a hearty greeting of Darvid, who met him with delight, and then he stood before Malvina in such a posture, and with suchan expression on his face, as if he desired only one thing onearth, to be able to drop on his knees before her. 

That conversation and scene remained fixed in Irene's memory. Shedrew from it formerly, extensive conclusions, then she ceasedaltogether to recall it; now she thought again of it, forgettingher painted chrysanthemums, which, on the blue satin, seemed togaze at her, having as subtle and enigmatical a look as sheherself had. 

A servant at the door announced: "Baron Emil Blauendorf!"

"Not at ho--" began she at once; but, halting, instructed theservant to ask him to wait. At her mother's desk she wrote on anarrow card of Bristol-board, in English:

"Mamma is ill with neuralgia; I am nursing her, and cannot seeyou to-day. I regret this, for the talk about dissonances beganto be interesting. Bring me the continuation of it to-morrow!"

She gave this card, in an envelope addressed to the baron, to aservant, and sat down again to her chrysanthemums, this time witha smile both malicious and gladsome. With his appearance in thathouse, though unseen by her, Baron Emil had lent form in her headto a certain whimsical idea. She knew that it was whimsical, butjust for that reason it pleased her, and must also please thebaron. She began quickly, almost with enthusiasm, to paint darkoutlines of imps among the flowers. She disposed them so thatthey seemed to separate the flowers and keep them apart from oneanother. Some imps were climbing up, others were slipping down;they peeped out from behind petals, climbed along stems, but allwere malicious, distorted, capricious, and pushed the tops of theflowers apart in such fashion that they did not let thehalf-bending petals meet in kisses. Painting quickly, Irenelaughed. She imagined Baron Emil saying at sight of this work:"C'est du nouveau! It is not a painted pot! it is an individualthought. There is a new quiver there. It bites. "

The expressions "painted pots, " "Arcadians, " "it bites, " "newquivers, " "rheumatism of thought, " and many more she had fromhim. And she was not the only one who borrowed. These expressionshad spread in a rather largo circle of people who despisedeverything existing, and were seeking everything which was newand astonishing. Baron Emil was cultured, had read much. He readfrequently Nietsche's "Zarathustra, " and spoke of the coming"race, " the super-humans. He spoke somewhat through his nose andthrough his teeth. 

The superhuman is he who is able to will absolutely andunconditionally. 

When Irene thought that perhaps she would soon become the baron'swife, and leave that house, her brows contracted and her jeeringsmile vanished. Oh, she would not let him escape her! She had anabsolute condition to put before the baron; he would accept itmost assuredly, through deference to the amount of her dower. Energy glittered in her blue eyes. She turned her face toward thedoor of her mother's room with so quick a movement that themetallic pin in her hair cast a gleam of sharp steel above herhead. 

"One must know how to will, " whispered she. 

CHAPTER IV

When Kranitski entered his own lodgings, after passing the nightwith Maryan, and after the long conversation with Malvina, oldwidow Clemens looked at him from behind her great spectacles, anddropped her hands:

"Are you sick, or what? Arabian adventure! Ah, what a look youhave! What has happened? Maybe those pains have come; you havehad them a number of times already. Why not take off your fur?Wait! I will help you this minute. Oh, you will be sick inaddition to everything else. "

She was a squatty woman, heavy, with a striped kerchief on hershoulders, and wearing a short skirt, from under which appearedflat feet in tattered overshoes. She was seventy years old, atleast; her large, sallow face was much withered. Bordered by grayhair and a white cap that face was bright with the gleam of darkeyes, still fiery, and quickly glancing from under a wrinkled, high forehead. Her whole figure had in it something of thefields, something primitive, which seemed not to have the leastrelation to that little drawing-room and its owner. That roomcontained everything which is found usually in such apartments, therefore: a sofa, armchairs, a table, a mirror with a console, alow and broad ottoman with cushions in Oriental fashion, porcelain figures on the console, old-fashioned shelves withbooks in nice bindings, a few oil paintings, small but neat, onthe walls, a number of photographs, tastefully grouped above theottoman, a large album on the table before the sofa. But all thiswas a collection brought together at various seasons, and injuredby time. The covering of the cushions had faded, the gilding onthe mirror frame was worn here and there, the leather covering onthe furniture was worn and showed through cracks the stuffingwithin, the album was torn, the porcelain base of the lamp wasbroken. At the first cast of the eye the little drawing-roomseemed elegant, but after a while, through spots and rents mendedcarefully, want was observed creeping forth. This want was hiddenchiefly by perfect and minute cleanliness, in which one couldrecognize active, careful hands, industrious, untiring sweepingout, rubbing out, sewing, mending--those were the lean, agedhands, with broad palms and short fingers, which were now helpingKranitski to remove his fur coat. Meanwhile, a scolding, harshvoice, with tenderness at the base of it, continued:

"Again a night passed away from home. Surely off there withcards, or with madams of some sort! Oi, an offense against God!And this time you come home sick. I see that you are sick, yourwhole face is covered with red spots, you are hardly able tostand on your feet. Arabian adventure!"

"Give me rest!" answered Kranitski in a complaining voice. "I amsick, the most wretched of men. Everything is past for me--I begyou to look to the door, so that no one may enter; I am sufferingtoo much to let in impertinent people. "

There were tears in his eyes, and his appearance was wretched. Noone was looking at him then, except his old servant, who was asfaithful as a dog, so he let the fetters of artificial youth andelegance drop from him. His shoulders were bent, his cheekspendant, above his brows were red spots and thick wrinkles. Hevanished then beyond the half-closed door of his bedroom, andwidow Clemens went back to the work interrupted by his coming. Inthe middle of the drawing-room, on an open card-table, lay, spread out, a dressing gown of Turkish stuff. That gown, beautiful on a time, was then faded; moreover, its lining wastorn. Widow Clemens while repairing that lining and patching ithad been interrupted by Kranitski's return; and now, wearinggreat steel-rimmed glasses, and with a brass thimble on hermiddle finger, she sat down again. She examined a rent throughwhich wadding peeped out on the world, cautiously. But in spiteof her attention fixed on the work she whispered, or rathertalked on in a low and monotonous mutter:

"'Look to the door, let no one in!' As if anyone ever comes here. Long ago, comrades and various protectors used to come; they cameoften at first, afterward very seldom; but now it is perhaps twoyears since even a dog has looked in here. He could not bearimpertinent people. Oh, yes! they come here, many of them, princes, counts, various rich persons. Oh, yes! while he was anovelty and brilliant they amused themselves with him as theywould with a shining button, but when the button was rubbed anddull they threw it into a corner. The relations, the friends, thecompanions! Arabian adventure! Oh, this society!"

She was silent a while, put a piece of carefully fitted materialon the rent, raised her hand a number of times with the longthread, and again muttered:

"But is that society? It is sin, not society! Roll in sin, likethe devil in pitch, and then scream that it burns! Oi, Oi!"

Silence reigned in the room; only the clock, that unavoidabledweller in all houses, that comrade of all people, tickedmonotonously on the shelf, beneath the mirror, among theporcelain figures. Widow Clemens, while sewing, industriously, muttered on. Her unbroken loneliness, the store of thoughts putaway in her old head, and the care in her heart had given her thehabit of soliloquy. 

"And it will be worse yet. He has debts beyond calculation. Hewill die on a litter of straw, or in a hospital. Oh, if his deadmother could see this! Arabian adventure! Unless Stefanek and Idrag him out of this pit!"

She stopped sewing and raised her spectacles to her forehead, their glass eyes gleamed above her gray brows, and she fell intodeep thought. She moved her lips from time to time, but did notmutter. By this movement of the lips, and by her wrinkles, itcould be seen that she was forming some plan, that she wasimagining. Just then Kranitski's voice was heard from thebedroom. 

She sprang up with the liveliness of twenty years, and, with aloud clattering of old overshoes, ran to the door. 

"Give me the dressing-gown, mother; I am not well; I will not goanywhere to-day. "

"Here is the dressing-gown; but if the lining is torn?"

"Torn or not, give it here, and my slippers, too; for I am notwell. "

"Here they are! Not well? I have said not well! O beloved God, what will come of this?"

But, while helping him to put on the dressing-gown, she inquired, with incredulity:

"Is it true, or a joke, that you will not leave the houseto-day?"

"A joke!" answered he in bitterness. "If you knew what a jokethis is! I will not leave the house to-day, or to-morrow, orperhaps ever. I will lie here and grieve till I grieve to death. Oh, that it might be very soon!"

"Arabian adventure! Never has it been like this! It is easy tosee that the pitch has burnt!" whispered widow Clemens toherself. But aloud she said:

"Before you grieve to death we must get you some dinner. I willrun to the town for meat. I will lock the door outside, so thatimpertinent counts, and various barons should not burst in, "added she, ironically. 

Kranitski, left alone, locked up in his lodgings, robed in hisdressing-gown, once costly, now faded, its sleeves tattered atthe wrists, lay on the long-chair in front of his collection ofpipes, arranged on the wall cunningly. In the society in which hemoved collecting was universal. They collected pictures, miniatures, engravings, autographs, porcelain, old books, oldspoons, old stuffs. Kranitski collected pipes. Some he hadbought, but the greater number, by far, he had received onanniversaries of his name's-day, in proof of friendlyrecollection, and as keepsakes after a journey. During years manywere collected, about a hundred; among them some were valuable, some poor but original, some even ridiculous, some immense insize, some small, some bright colored, some almost black; theywere arranged on shelves at the wall with taste, and effectively. 

Besides these pipes there were in the bed-room other objects ofvalue: a writing-desk of peculiar wood, a porcelain frame, withCupids at the top, surrounding an oval mirror, at which werebottles, vials, toilet boxes, and a rather long cigarette-case ofpure gold, which Kranitski kept with him at all times, and which, as he lay now in the long-chair, he turned in his fingers, mechanically. This cigarette-case was a precious memento. He hadreceived it soon after his arrival in the city, twenty and someyears before, from Countess Eugenia, his mother's aunt. Promtheir first meeting the countess was simply wild about him. Society even insisted, notwithstanding her more than ripe years, that she was madly in love with that uncommonly beautiful andblooming young man, who had been reared by his mother withimmense care, and trained to appear successfully in that societyto which she had been born. Kranitski's mother, through variouscauses, had become the victim of a mesalliance; she grieved out, and wept away secretly; her life, in a village corner, aftermarrying a noble who was perfectly honorable, but neither a manof the world, nor the owner of much property. She desired for heronly son a better fate than she herself had had, and prepared himfor it long beforehand. He spoke French with a Parisian accent, and English quite well; he was versed in the literatures ofWestern Europe; he was a famous dancer; he was obliging; he hadan inborn instinct of kindness toward people; he was popular, sought after, petted; when the money with which his motherfurnished him proved insufficient he obtained a small office, through the influence of wealthy relatives, which, besidesincreasing his revenue, gave him a certain independent aspect. Hepassed whole days in great and wealthy houses, where he readbooks, aloud, to old princesses and countesses, and for youngprincesses and countesses; he held skeins of silk on his openedhands. He carried out commissions and various small affairs; atballs he led dances; he amused himself; fell in love, was lovedin return; he passed evenings and nights in clubs, and in privaterooms at restaurants, at theatres, and behind the scenes intheatres, where he paid homage to famous actresses of variousdegrees and qualities. Those were times truly joyous and golden. At that period he was served not by widow Clemens, but by a man;he dined--if not with friends or relatives--at the bestrestaurants. At that time, too, he did something magnanimous, which brought reward in the form of great mental profit: Hepassed a whole year in Italy with Count Alfred, his relative, whowas suffering from consumption; Kranitski nursed, amused, andcomforted his cousin with patience, attachment, and tendernesswhich were perfectly sincere, and which came from a heartinclined to warm, almost submissive feelings. In return that yeargave him skill in the use of Italian, and a wide acquaintancewith the achievements and the schools of art, of which he was anenthusiastic worshipper. Soon after he went with Prince Zeno toParis, learned France and its capital well, and on his returnremained for some time as a reader with the prince, whose eyeswere affected. His power of beautiful reading in many languagesbrought him a wide reputation; he was distinguished indrawing-rooms by the ease of his speech and manners; to some hebecame a valued assistant in entertaining guests, and a pleasantcompanion in hours of loneliness; to others he was a master inthe domain of amusements, and elegance in the arts of politenessand pleasure. At this period also he made the acquaintance ofDarvid, and met his wife, whom he had known from childhood, andwho had been his earliest ideal of womanhood. Thenceforth, hisrelations with other houses were relaxed considerably, for hegave himself to the Darvid house soul and body. Though Malvina'schildren had many tutors, he taught one of her daughters Italian, and the other English; he did this with devotion, with delight;and, therefore, that house became, as it were, his own, and wasever open to him. Moreover, during the last ten years greatchanges had happened in that society of which he was the adoptedchild, and so long the favorite. 

Countess Eugenia had given her daughter in marriage to a Frenchcount, and resided in Paris; Count Alfred was dead; dead, also, was that dear, kindly Baroness Blauendorf from whom he hadreceived as a gift that mirror with porcelain frame and Cupids. Others, too, were dead, or were living elsewhere. Only PrinceZeno remained, but he had cooled toward his former reader, notably because of the princess, who could not forgive Kranitski;since, as was too well known by all, he was occupied with thewife of that millionaire--the eternally absent. 

There were still many acquaintances, and more recent relations, but these had neither the charm nor the certainty of those whichtime had in various ways broken, brought to an end, or relaxed. 

His mother, the foundress of his destiny, had ceased to live sometime before that. 

"Pauvre maman! pauvre maman!"

How tenderly and unboundedly he had loved her. How long he hadhesitated and fought with himself before he left at herpersuasion, the house in which she had given birth to him. Heregretted immensely the village, the freedom, and thatbright-haired maiden in the neighborhood. But the wide world andthe great city took on, in his mother's narrative, the outlinesof paradise, and his worthy relatives, the forms of demi-gods. 

When at last, after long hesitation and struggles, he resolved togo away, how many were the kisses and embraces of his mother! howmany were her maxims and advices; how many her predictions ofhappiness. He began to look at his own form in the mirrors, andto feel in his own person the movement of desires, hopes, ambitions. Once he caught himself bowing and making gestures, almost involuntarily, before the mirrors. He laughed aloud, hismother laughed also, for she had caught him in the actred-handed. 

"Pauvre maman! pauvre, chere maman!"

And on the background of that domestic gladness, of thosewonderful hopes, only one person by her conduct had raised acloud on that heaven, beaming serenely. That was widow Clemens, an old servant of the house, and once his nurse, not young evenat that time, and a childless widow. 

She was morose, grumbling, peevish, but for a long time she saidnothing; she did not hinder the thin, gray-haired mother, nor theyouth, beautiful as a dream, from rejoicing and imagining; tillat last she spoke when alone with the petted stripling. It wasthe end of an autumn day, twilight had begun to come down on theyard in Lipovka, and the linden grove, in a black line, cutthrough the evening ruddiness glowing in the western heavens. Widow Clemens, with her eyes fixed on the grove and the red ofevening, said:

"Oi! Tulek, Tulek! how will this be? You will go away; you willtake up and go away; but the sun will rise and set; the grovewill rustle; the wheat will ripen; and the snow will fall whenyou are gone. "

He sat on the bench of the piazza, and said nothing. But in thedistant fields, in the growing darkness, a shepherd's whistlegave out clear tones, simple, monotonous, they flew along thefield like the weeping of space. 

"Why go; do you know why--God alone knows. What are you throwingaway? The beauties of God. What will you bring back? Perhaps themud people cast at you. "

A cow bellowed in the stable; a belated working-woman muttered asong somewhere behind in the garden. The evening red wasquenched; and above the roof the crescent of the moon came out, thin and like silver. 

Widow Clemens whispered:

"Ill-fated! ill-fated boy!"

He was immensely far from considering himself ill fated, butsomething in his heart felt pain at leaving that village where hewas born, at leaving Malvina, and it seemed to him that he oughtto stay. 

But he went. The Argonaut, of twenty and some years of age, wentout into the world, slender, adroit, with eyes dark and fiery asyouth, with cheeks shapely and fresh as peaches, with a foreheadas white and pure as the petal of a lily; he went for a wife witha fortune, for the pleasures of the world--for the golden fleece. 

Now he wrapped himself closely in the skirt of his fadeddressing-gown, and let his head droop so low that the bald spotseemed white on the top of it; his lower lip dropped; the redspots came out over his dark brows on his wrinkled forehead. Inhis hand he held the cigarette-case presented by CountessEugenia, now living in Paris, and at times he turned it in hisfingers, with an unconscious movement, and that glittering objectcast on the tattered sleeve of his dressing-gown, on hissuffering face, on his long, thin fingers, its bright, goldenreflection. 

Meanwhile widow Clemens had returned to the kitchen, and there, not without a loud clattering of overshoes, had begun to cook thedinner. But Kranitski neither heard nor saw anything. From timeto time the head, with its great cap, looked in through thekitchen door, gazed on him unquietly and pushed back to look inagain soon. 

"Will you have dinner now?" inquired she at last. "It is ready. "

In a low voice he asked for dinner, but he ate almost nothing;the woman had never yet seen him so broken, still she made noinquiry. When the moment came he would tell all himself. He wasnot of those who bear secrets to the grave with them. She waitedon the man, gave him food, brought tea, cleared the table insilence. Once she fell into trouble: Passing hurriedly throughthe room she lost one of the overshoes which she had on her feet:

"Ah! may thou be!--they fall off every moment!" grumbled she, andfor some minutes she struggled with that overshoe, which, dropping from her foot, slipped along the floor noisily. Kranitski raised his head:

"What is that?" inquired he. 

She made no answer, but when she was near the kitchen door, hecried:

"What have you on your feet that clatter so? It is irritating!"

She stopped at the door:

"What have I on my feet? Well, your old overshoes! Am I to wearout shoes every day, and then buy new ones? 'Irritating!' Arabianadventure! God grant that you never have worse irritation thanovershoes clattering on the floor!"

And she grumbled on in the kitchen while going with an emptyglass to the samovar:

"You wouldn't have a pinch of tea in the house if I went aroundin new shoes all my time!"

Darkness came down. Kranitski smoked cigarettes one afteranother, and was so sunk in thought that he trembled throughouthis body. When widow Clemens brought in a lamp, with amilk-colored globe, which filled the room with a white, mildlight, Kranitski looked at the head of the old woman in the whitelamp-light, and, for the first time in a number of hours, hespoke:

"Come, mother, come nearer!" said he. 

When she came he seized her rude fist in both his hands and shookit vigorously. 

"What could I do; what would happen to me now, if you were notwith me? No living soul of my own here! Alone, alone, as in adesert. "

The onrush of tenderness burst through all obstructions. Confidences flowed on. He had loved for the last time in life, ledernier amour, and all had ended. She had forbidden him to seeher. That decision of hers had been ripening for a long time. Reproaches of conscience, shame, despair as to her children. Onedaughter knew everything; the other might know it any day. Shehad let out of her hands the rudder of those hearts andconsciences, for when she was talking with them her own faultclosed her lips, like a red-hot seal. She thought herself themost pitiful of creatures. She did not wish to make further useof her husband's wealth, or the position which it give her insociety. She wished to go away, to settle down in some silentcorner, vanish from the eyes of people. 

Kranitski was so excited that he almost sobbed; here his speechwas interrupted by a rough, sarcastic voice:

"It is well that she came to her senses at last--"

"What senses? What are you weaving, mother? You know nothing. Love is never an offense. Ils ont peche, mais le ceil est undon. "

"You are mad, Tulek! Am I some madam that you must speak Frenchto me?" Still he finished:

"Ils ont souffert, c'est le sceau du pardon. I will translatethis for thee: They have sinned, but heaven is a gift-----Theyhave suffered; suffering is the seal of pardon. "

"Tulek, let heaven alone! To mix up such things withheaven--Arabian adventure!"

"Are you a priest, mother? I tell you of my own suffering and thesuffering of that noble, sweet being--" In the antechamber, thedoor of which widow Clemens, in returning from the city, had notlocked, was heard stamping, and the youthful voice of a mancalled:

"Is your master at home?"

"Arabian adventure!" muttered widow Clemens. 

"Maryan!" exclaimed Kranitski with delight, and he answeredaloud:

"I am at home, at home!"

"An event worthy of record in universal history, " answered thevoice of a man speaking somewhat through his nose and teeth. 

"And the baron!" cried Kranitski; then he whispered:

"Close the drawing-room door, mother; I must freshen up alittle, " and from behind the closed door he spoke to those whowere in the drawing-room:

"In a moment, my dears, in a moment I shall be at your service. "

In the light of the lamp, placed by widow Clemens in thedrawing-room, he appeared, indeed, after a few minutes, dressed, his hair arranged, perfumed, elegant with springy movements andan unconstrained smile on his lips. Only his lids were reddened, and on his forehead were many wrinkles which would not besmoothed away. 

"A comedian! There is a comedian!" grumbled widow Clemens, returning to the kitchen, with a terrible clatter of overshoes. 

The two young men pressed his hand in friendship. It was clearthat they liked him. 

"Why did you avoid us all day?" inquired Baron Emil. "We waitedfor you at Borel's--he gave us an excellent dinner. But maybe youare fasting?"

"Let him alone, he has his suffering, " put in Maryan. "I am sosorry, mon bon vieux (my good old man), that I have persuaded thebaron to join me in taking you out. I cannot, of course, leaveyou a victim to melancholy. "

Kranitski was moved; gratitude and tenderness were gazing out ofhis eyes. 

"Thanks, thanks! You touch me. "

He pressed the hands of both in turn, holding Maryan's handlonger than the baron's, with the words:

"My dear-dear--dear. "

The young man smiled. 

"Do not grow so tender, " said he, "for that injures the interior. You are, however, a son of that generation which possesses anantidote for melancholy. "

"What is it?"

"Well, faith, hope, charity, with resignation and--other paintedpots. We haven't them, so we go to Tron-tron's, where Lili Kerthsings. We are to give her a supper tonight at Borel's. Borel haspromised me everything which the five parts of the world cangive. "

"As to the problematic nature of that Lili, " remarked the baron, "there are moments in which she takes on the superhuman ideal. "

"What an idea, dear baron!" burst out Kranitski. "Lili andsuperhumanity, the ideal! Why, she is a little beast that singsabject things marvellously. "

"That is it, that is it!" said the baron, defending his position, "a little beast in the guise of an angel--the singing ofchansonettes with such a devil in the body--and at the same timea complexion, a look, a smile, which scatters a kind of mystic, lily perfume. This is precisely that dissonance, that snap, thatmystery with which she has conquered Europe. This rousescuriosity; it excites; it is opposed to rules, to harmony--do youunderstand?"

"Stop, Emil!" cried Maryan, laughing. "You are speaking to theguardian of tombs. He worships harmony yet. "

Kranitski seemed humiliated somewhat. He passed his palm over hishair, and began timidly:

"But that is true, my dears; I see myself that I am becomingold-fashioned. Men of my time, and I, called a cat a cat, a roguea rogue. If a Lili like yours put on the airs of an angel wesaid: 'Oh, she is a rogue!' And we knew what to think of thematter. But this confounding of profane with sacred, of therudest carnalism with a mystic tendency--"

The baron and Maryan laughed. 

"For you this is all Greek, and will remain Greek. You wore bornin the age of harmony, you will remain on the side of harmony. But a truce to talk. Let us go. Come, you will hear Lili Kerth;we shall sup together. "

"Come, we have a place in the carriage for you, " said the baron, supporting young Darvid's invitation. 

Kranitski grew as radiant as if a sun-ray had fallen on his face. 

"Very well, my dears, very well, I will go with you; it willdistract me, freshen me. A little while only; will you permit?"

"Of course. Willingly. We will wait. " He hurried to his bedroom, and closed the door behind him. In his head whirled pictures andexpressions: the theatre, songs, amusement, supper, conversation, the bright light--everything, in a word, to which he had grownaccustomed, and with which he had lived for many years. Theforetaste of delight penetrated through his grievous sorrows. After the bitter mixture he felt the taste of caramels in hismouth. He ran toward his dressing-table, but in the middle of theroom he stood as if fixed to the floor. His eye met a beautifulheliotype, standing on the bureau in the light of the lamp; fromthe middle of the room, in a motionless posture, Kranitski gazedat the face of the woman, which was enclosed in an ornamentedframe. 

"Poor, dear soul! Noble creature!" whispered he, and his lipsquivered, and on his forehead appeared the red spots. Maryancalled from beyond the door:

"Hurry, old man! We shall be late!"

A few minutes afterward Kranitski entered the drawing-room. Hisshoulders were bent; his lids redder than before. 

"I cannot--as I love you, I cannot go with you! I feel ill. "

"Indeed, he must be ill!" cried Maryan. "See, Emil, how our oldman looks! He is changed, is he not?"

"But a moment ago you looked well!" blurted out Emil, and added:"Do not become wearisome, do not get sick. Sick people arefertilizers on the field of death--and sickness is annoying!"

"Splendidly said!" exclaimed Maryan. 

"No, no, " answered Kranitski, "this is not important, it is anold trouble of the liver. Returned only to-day--you must gowithout me. "

He straightened himself, smiled, tried to move withoutconstraint, but unconquerable suffering was evident on hisfeatures and in the expression of his eyes. 

"May we send the doctor?" asked Maryan. 

"No, no, " protested Kranitski, and the baron took him by the armand turned him toward the bedroom. Though Kranitski's shoulderswere bent at that moment, his form was shapely and imposing; thebaron, holding his arm, seemed small and frail; he made one thinkof a fly. In the bedroom he said, with a low voice:

"It is reported in the city that papa Darvid is opposed to myplans concerning Panna Irene. Do you know of this?"

For some months the baron had spoken frequently with Kranitskiabout his plans, taking counsel with him even at times, andbegging for indications. Was he not the most intimate friend ofthat house, and surely an adviser of the family? Kranitski didnot think, or even speak, of Baron Emil otherwise than:

"Ce brave garcon has the best heart in the world; he is veryhighly developed and intelligent; yes, very intelligent; and hismother, that dear, angelic baroness, was one of the mostbeautiful stars among those which have lighted my life. "

So through the man's innate inclination to an optimistic view ofmankind, and his grateful memory of "one of the most beautifulstars, " he was always very friendly to the baron and favorable tohis plan touching Irene; all the more since he noted in her aninclination toward the baron. So, usually, he gave the young mancounsel and answers willingly and exhaustively. This time, however, an expression of constraint and of suffering fell on hisface. 

"I know not, dear baron; indeed, I can do nothing, for totell--for I--" A number of drops of perspiration came out on hisforehead, and he added, with difficulty:

"It seems that Panna Irene--"

"Panna Irene, " interrupted the baron, without noticingKranitski's emotion, "is a sonnet from Baudelaire's Les fleurs dumal (The flowers of evil). There is in her something undefined, something contradictory--"

Kranitski made a quick movement. 

"My baron--"

"But do you not understand me, dear Pan Arthur? I have nointention of speaking ill of Panna Irene. In my mouth theepithets which I have used are the highest praise. Panna Irene isinteresting precisely for this reason, that she is indefinite andcomplicated. She is a disenchanted woman. She possesses thatuniversal irony which is the stamp of higher natures. Oh, PannaIrene is not a violet unless from the hot-house of Baudelaire!But, just for that reason she rouses curiosity, irritates, unedesabusee--une vierge desabusee. Do you understand? There is inthis the odor of mystery--a new quiver. But with natures of thissort nothing can ever be certain--"

"Hers is a noble nature!" cried Kranitski, with enthusiasm. 

"You divide natures into noble and not noble, " said the baron, with a smile; "but I, into annoying and interesting. "

Beyond the door the loud voice of Maryan was heard:

"Emil, I will leave you and go to Tron-tron's. I will tell LiliKerth that you remained for the night to nurse a sick friend. "

These words seemed to them so amusing that they laughed, fromboth sides of the closed door, simultaneously. 

"Good!" cried the baron. "You will create for me the fame of agood Christian. As the Brandenburger fears only God, I fear onlythe ridiculous, and go. "

A few minutes later the two friends were no longer in thedwelling of Kranitski, who was sitting on his long chair again, with drooping head, turning in his fingers the goldencigarette-case. The street outside the window was lonely enough, so the rumble of the departing carriage was audible. Kranitskifollowed it with his ear, and when it was silent he regrettedpassionately for a moment that he had not gone to where peoplewere singing and jesting, and eating, and drinking in brightlight, in waves of laughter. But, straightway, he felt aninvincible distaste for all that. He was so sad, crushed, sick. Why had not those two young friends of his remained longer? Hehad rendered them the most varied services frequently, he hadsimply been at their service always, and had loved them;especially Maryan, the dear child--and many others. How manytimes had he nursed them, also, in sickness, consoled them, rescued them, amused them. Now, when he cannot run after them, asa dog after its mistress, his only comrades are darkness andsilence. 

Darkness reigned in the little drawing-room, silence of the gravein the whole dwelling. A clatter of overshoes broke this silence;widow Clemens stood in the kitchen door. On her high forehead, above her gray eyebrows, shone the glass eyes of her spectacles;her left hand was covered with a man's sock which she wasdarning. She stood in the door and looked at Kranitski, bent, grown old, buried in gloomy silence, and shook her head. Then, asquietly as ever was possible for her, she approached thelong-chair, sat on a stool which was near it, and asked:

"Well, why are you silent, and chewing sorrow alone? Talk withme, you will feel easier. "

As he gazed at her silently, she asked in a still lower tone:

"Well, the woman? Did she love you greatly? Was her love real?How did you and she come to your senses?"

After a few minutes' hesitation, or thought, Kranitski, with hiselbows on the edge of the chair, and his forehead on his palms, said:

"I can tell all, mother, for you are not of our society, and youare noble, faithful; the only one on earth who remains with me. "

Throughout the silent chamber was heard, as it were, the sound ofa trumpet: that sound was made by widow Clemens, who had drawnfrom her pocket a coarse handkerchief and held it to her nose. Her eyes were moist. Kranitski quivered and squirmed, butcontinued:

"When we met the first time after parting, the spring season wasaround us. You know that we parted only because I had too littlefortune to marry a portionless maiden, and my mother would nothear of my marrying a governess. Soon after, that rich manmarried her. Fiu! fiu! what became of that governess, that girlmore timid than a violet? She became a society lady, full oflife, elegance, style--but springtime breathed around us, memories of the village, of the flowers, of the fields, of ourearliest, heartfelt emotions. Did she love her husband? Poor, dear, soul! It seems that at first she was attached to him, buthe left her, neglected her, grasped after millions throughout thewhole world. He was strong, unbending--she was ever alone. Alonein society! Alone in the house--for the children were small yet, and she so sensitive and weak, needing friendship and thefondling of a devoted heart. I fell on my knees in spirit beforeher--she felt that. He, when going away, left me near her as anadviser, a guardian for the time, even a protector, yes, apro-tec-tor--the parvenu! the idiot! So wise, yet so stupid--ha!ha! ha!"

Sneering, vengeful laughter contorted Kranitski's face, the redspots spread over his brows and covered half of his forehead, which was drawn now into thick wrinkles. 

"Do not vex yourself, Tulek, do not vex yourself, you will beill, " urged widow Clemens; but once his confessions were begun hewent on with them. 

"For a year or more there was nothing between us. We werefriends, but she held me at a distance; she struggled. You, mother, know if I had success with women--"

"You had, to your eternal ruin, you had!" blurted out widowClemens. 

"From youth I had the gift of reading; I owe much to it. "

"Ei! you owe much to it! What do you owe to it? Your sin againstGod, and the waste of your life!" said the widow, ready for adispute, but he went on without noting that. 

"Once she was weak after a violent attack of neuralgia; it waslate in the evening, the great house was empty and dark, thechildren were sleeping--I gave her the attention that a brotheror a mother would give; I was careful; I hid what was happeningwithin me; I acted as though I were watching over a sick childwhich was dear to me. I entertained her with conversation; Ispoke in a low voice; I gave her medicine and confectionery. Afterward I began to read. More than once she had said that myreading was music. I was reading Musset. You do not know, mother, who Musset is. He is the poet of love--of that love exactly whichthe world calls forbidden. She wanted something from theneighboring chamber; I went for it. When I returned our eyes met, and--well, I read no more that evening. "

He was barely able to utter the last words; he covered his facewith his handkerchief, rested his head on the arm of thelong-chair, was motionless; wept, perhaps. Widow Clemens bentdown, the corner of her coarse handkerchief came from her pocket, and through the chamber that sound of a trumpet was heard for thesecond time. Then she drew her bench up still nearer, and, withher hand in the stocking-foot, touched Kranitski's arm, andwhispered:

"Say no more, Tulek; despair not! Let God up there judge her andyou. He is a strict judge, but merciful! I am sorry for you, butalso for her, poor thing! What is to be done? The heart is notstone, man is not an angel! Only drive off despair! Everythingpasses-, and your sorrow also will pass. You may be better off inthe world than you now are. You may yet enjoy pleasant quiet inLipovka, in your own cottage. Stefanek and I may think outsomething, so that you will escape from the mud of this city. "

Kranitski made no answer; the woman spoke on:

"I have had another letter from Stefanek. "

"What does that honest man write?" asked Kranitski. 

The widow flushed up in anger:

"It is true that he is honest, and there is no need to call himthat--as if through favor, or sneering. Arabian adventure! He isonly my godson, but better than men of high birth. He writes thatmanagement in Lipovka goes well; that again he has set out ahundred fruit-trees in the garden; that in four weeks he willcome and bring a little money. "

"Money!" whispered Kranitski; "but that is well!"

"It is surely well, for that Jew would have taken your furnitureif I had not pushed him down the steps, and a second time beggedhim to wait. " She laughed. "To push him down was easier than tobeg, for I am strong, and he is as small as a fly. Well I almostkissed his hands, and he promised to wait. 'For widow Clemens Iwill do this, ' said he, 'because she is a servant who is like amother. ' Indeed, I am like a mother! I have no children, I haveno one of my own in the world--I have only you. "

Kranitski looked at her and began to shake his head with a slowmovement. She, too, fixing her fiery and gloomy eyes on his eyes, shook slowly her head, which was covered with a great cap. 

The lamp burning on the bureau threw its white light on those twoheads, which, discoursing sadly, continued their melancholyconverse without words; it shone also on the varied collection ofpipes at the wall, and cast passing gleams on the goldencigarette-case which Kranitski turned in his hand. 

CHAPTER V

Darvid was in splendid humor--he had bought at auction a houseand broad grounds very reasonably. He cared little for thehouse--it was a rubbishy old pile which he would remove verysoon--but the grounds, covered then with an extensive garden, represented an uncommonly profitable transaction. Situated nearone of the railroad stations, he would, of course, receive a highprice for it, because of the need to put there a great publicedifice. 

Darvid would sell the ground to those who needed it, and thenmake proposals to build the edifice. This was the thirdundertaking which had fallen to him since his return, a fewmonths before. What of that, when the most important, for whichhe would have given the other three willingly, had not fallen yetto him, and he did not know well what had been done concerningit? This affair did not let him sleep sometimes, still it did notdisincline him from working at that which he had begun already. 

The day was clear, slightly frosty, myriads of brilliants wereglittering in the white rime which covered the trees, and in thesnow which lay on the extensive garden. Darvid, in company with asurveyor, an engineer, and an architect, walked through thegarden, but the object of his walk was in no way thecontemplation of nature bound up under marbles, and alabasterssprinkled with brilliants. The engineer brought him a plan forthe purchase of the place, and supported the interests of hisemployers energetically; the surveyor and the architect spoke oftheir part, pointed out with gestures the proportions and variouspoints of the open area. Darvid, in a closely fitting fur coat, finished with an original and very costly collar, with a shininghat on his head, walked over the ground with even tread; helistened rather than spoke, there was a silent satisfaction inhis smile, when suddenly an immense brightness reflected from atree, directly in front, dazzled his eyesight. The tree, whichresembled a lofty pillar, had on each of its branches a plume, cut as it were delicately from alabaster, every feather of thisplume flamed like a torch lighted in a rainbow. Sheafs of rainbowgleams shot out of that wonderful carving, and from that fountainof many-colored light. Darvid put his glasses on his nosesuddenly, and said with a painful twist of the mouth:

"What unendurable light!"

The architect looked at the tree and said, with a smile:

"No man, not even a Greek master, has ever finished a pillar likethat. "

"The only pity is that it cannot be used, " replied Darvid, smiling also. 

"You are not a lover of nature, that is true; while I--" beganthe engineer. 

"On the contrary, on the contrary. During intervals I have lookedat nature here and there, " said Darvid, playfully. "But to becomeher lover, as you say, I have not had leisure. To love nature isa luxury which iron toil does not know--a luxury which must haveleisure. "

With these words he turned from the beautiful work of nature andintended to go on, but again he halted. He found himself at thepicket fence, which divided the garden from the street, and inthe movement of the street he saw something which occupied himgreatly. 

It was the hour of departure for one of the railroad trains. Thestreet was wide, and the ground on both sides of it was notentirely occupied yet with houses, many carriages on wheels, anda multitude of sleighs were hastening toward the near railwaystation. The sleighs shot forward with clinking harness, the snowunder wheels squeaked complainingly, the drivers uttered briefshouts. The hats of men and women, various kinds of furs, theliveries of coachmen, the horses puffing steam, covered here andthere with colored nets, formed a motley, changing line, movingforward with a rattle and an outcry along the white snow, in anatmosphere glittering from frost and sunlight. 

One of the carriages looked like a flower garden. Roses, camelias, pinks, and violets were creeping out--simply pouringout--through its windows. The carriage was filled with bouquets, garlands, baskets. Among these, as in a flood of various colors, appeared in the heart of it the broad-rimmed hat of a woman. Immediately behind the carriage rushed a sleigh drawn by a pairof grand horses, the driver wearing an enormous fur collar, andin the sleigh were two young men, at whose feet again was abasket of flowers, but the finest and costliest, very rare andexpensive orchids. The carriage and sleigh shot forward throughthe many-colored crowd of the street, as if some enchanted visionof spring had risen through the snow and then vanished. 

"Who is that lady in the carriage filled with flowers?" askedDarvid, turning to his companions. 

"Bianca Biannetti. "

That was a name which needed no commentary. Darvid smiled, withsatisfaction. It was not wonderful that Maryan and the littlebaron were escorting to the station that woman of European fame, and were taking flowers to her. Of course, of course. He himselfa number of times in his life--and if it was not offener, it wasbecause time had failed him. 

"There will be an amusing history to-day at the station, " saidthe engineer. "A special train for Bianca; it is to leave fiveminutes after the regular one. "

"For what purpose?" asked the architect. 

"It is easy to divine: to have five minutes longer to enjoy thesociety of the great singer. "

"An extra train! That is madness!" said Darvid. "Who did this?"

The engineer and architect exchanged significant glances, and theformer answered:

"Your son. "

The skin on Darvid's face quivered, but he answered with perfectcomposure:

"Ah, true! I remember Maryan told me something of this. Ipersuaded him a little, but he insisted. What is to be done? Ilfaut que la jeunesse se passe (youth must have its day). "

Then he gave his hand to the three men in farewell:

"I am sorry that we cannot finish our discussions to-day, but Iremember an important affair. I beg you, gentlemen, to cometo-morrow at the usual hour of my receptions. "

He raised his hat and left them. 

"To the station! Hurry!" said he to the driver while entering thecarriage. 

At the station stood a row of cars with a locomotive sending upsteam. A throng of people were moving toward the snow-coveredplatform, and hurrying to the train. Darvid came out also, searching with his eyes for a youthful face which filled hissleepless nights with care. At first he could not find it, butwhen many people had entered the train, those assembled for thepassive role of spectators formed a group and turned theirglances toward one point upon the platform. There in the hands ofa number of people bloomed a garden of beautiful flowers, andnear them two persons were conversing with great animation. Theopera singer was an Italian, a beautiful brunette, with eyesblazing like dark stars. Conversing with her in her own languagewas a young man, younger than she, very youthful, light haired, shapely, elegantly dressed. At some steps from this pair, in acareless posture, with an unoccupied air, stood Baron Emil, fragile and red-haired. 

The bell, summoning passengers, was heard in the frosty air forthe second time. The lady, with a charming smile, bowed in signof farewell, and made a step toward the train, but the young manbarred the way with a movement made adroitly, talking meanwhile, and holding her under the determined glance of his blue eyes. Without showing alarm she delayed, smiled, and listened. 

Darvid stood on the platform, lost in that crowd of the curious, and snatches of conversation struck his ear. 

"She will not go!" said one man. 

"She will! There is time enough yet!" said another. 

"He detains her purposely, so that she may not go. "

"He does, for she is beautiful. Her smile is as charming as hersong. "

"He is a daring boy, " said some third man near Darvid's otherear. "Look, look, how he talks her down purposely--poor woman, she will go back to the city beaten. "

"But no! That would be an impoliteness on his part. "

"Who is this handsome young man with golden hair?" asked somewoman. 

"Young Darvid. The son of the great financier. How young! He is achild. "

"A man with millions ripens quickly, like a peach in sunlight. "

"What language are they speaking? I cannot hear, but it is notFrench. "

"Italian; she is Italian. "

"But he chatters in that language as if he were her compatriot. "

"Millions are like the tongues at Pentecost, " said the man whohad mentioned peaches, "whoever is touched by them speaks everylanguage on earth right away. "

All the passengers had vanished in the cars, the doors of whichwere fastened now with loud clinking. This time the opera singerstepped forward quickly, but young Darvid spoke a few words whichbrought to her face astonishment and the most beautiful smile inthe world; she nodded, agreed to something, gave thanks forsomething in the same way that kindly queens consent to receivemarks of the highest honor from their subjects. 

In the crowd surrounding Darvid someone laughed:

"Ah, he is a stunning fellow! he will not let her go!"

"How handsome he is, that young Darvid!" said a woman. 

"He looks like a young prince, " added another. 

"But what will come of this? She will not go. "

"She will go!"

"She will not go!"

"I will bet!"

"I will bet!"

In a moment a number of bets were made behind Darvid as towhether the woman, who was talking to his son, would go from thecity that day or not. On his thin lips a smile of satisfactionappeared, the eyes from behind his glasses looked at his son withan expression which was almost mild. A young prince! Yes, that istrue. What freedom of manner, what grace! What fine disregard forthe common throng gazing at him! Triumphant even with women! Thatwoman, famous throughout Europe, is simply devouring him withthose black eyes of hers. 

The bell was heard on the platform for the third time, and at thesame moment a prolonged whistle pierced the air. The wheels ofthe train began to turn with a slow, measured movement. 

"It is over!" cried someone in the crowd. "She has not gone!"

"I have lost the bet!" said a number of voices. 

"How splendid that that handsome youth has carried his point, "said a woman. 

Meanwhile, from the remotest end of the platform, new whistlingof a locomotive came up, and the measured beat of wheels on therails was heard; at some distance a certain black mass appeared, it pushed forward faster and faster, until under the smoke cameout clearly the cylinder of a locomotive, drawing behind it ashort row of wagons. This was the train, and small, fresh, elegant. This train glittered in the sunlight with its yellowbrass fittings, gleamed in its sapphire-colored varnish. Its richinterior, with cushions of purple velvet, was visible through thewindows. A conductor opened the door of a car and stood near itin an expectant position. Maryan, with a motion of request, indicated it to the celebrated singer. 

Now the people standing on the platform understood everything, and fell into enthusiasm. The spirit, which rose to that plan andthrew out a large sum of money for the sake of it, struck theimagination and roused the sympathy of people inclined to goldand strange acts, without reference to their object or value. Onthe platform was heard the sharp clapping of some tens of hands, and soon after the locomotive whistled once more, and that small, special train pushed forward into space, only five minutes laterthan the regular train which preceded it. 

Darvid stood near the door of the station whence he could see hisson, who passed with slow step along a part of the platform. Andhe looked at him with unquiet curiosity, for something unexpectedin Maryan astonished him. In contradiction to what one mightexpect, and which seemed natural, there was not in the expressionof face and the movements of. Maryan either the pleasure of youthat something accomplished, or sorrow at the departure of thewoman, for whom he had accomplished it. When a moment beforeapplause was heard on the platform, he looked around and cast onthe hand-clapping crowd a passing glance, as indifferent as ifthey were an object not worthy of contempt, even. Now, too, hiswhole person expressed perfect indifference, nay, even annoyance, which contracted his lips, and yellowed the rosiness of his roundcheeks somewhat. In his blue eyes, fixed glassily on thedistance, was depicted something like dissatisfaction, or afeeling of disappointment, a dreaming, or a pondering in vainover deceitful visions which pass over space, but which no onecan seize upon. He did not see his father, for his glassy eyeswere looking far away at some point. Even the baron did not seeDarvid; he was searching for something in his pocketbookcarefully, till he took out a ten-rouble note and threw it at theporters who had borne in the baggage and flowers of theprimadonna. At the same time he cast these words through histeeth at them:

"I have no small money!"

Maryan, without rousing himself from thought, said, as ifmechanically:

"It is wonderful!"

"What?" asked the baron. 

"That everything in the world is so little, so little. "

"Except my appetite, which is immense at this moment, " cried thebaron. 

"But those fabulous sums which Maryan must expend!" thoughtDarvid going to his carriage; before he reached it he heard othersnatches of conversation:

"To throw away so much money for a few moments' talk with abeautiful woman--that is a character!"

"It promises trouble, does it not?"

"Especially for papa. "

"He has as many debts, no doubt, as curly hairs on his head. "

"He borrows, of course, on the security of papa's pocket. "

"Or his death. "

Others said:

"In such hands ill-gotten gains will go to the devil quickly. "

"Why ill-gotten gains?"

"Well, can you imagine Saint Francis of Assisi making millions?"

While his carriage was rolling along the streets of the city, Darvid's head was full of conflicting ideas. True, true; thatgreen youth had a special capacity for devouring the golden sandsof Pactolus! But in what a charming and princely fashion he didthat! Darvid was proud of his son, and at the same time greatlydismayed and troubled; for this could not last. That lad wasmaking debts in view of--his father's death. And this absoluteidleness! What good was a man who did nothing? The results alsoof idleness were evident in him: a certain premature withering, acertain dreaming without object--a handsome fellow! He looked asif born to a princely coronet. As Darvid was ascending the marblesteps of his mansion he said to the Swiss:

"When Pan Maryan comes home say that I request him to come tome. "

Darvid passed an hour or more in his study, alone, over papers, writing, taking notes, examining various accounts, and letters;but over his face, from time to time, ran a disagreeable quiver, and the nervous movements of his hand caused sheets of paper torustle unpleasantly. At last the door of the antechamber openedand Maryan appeared, hat in hand. 

"Good-day, my father, " began he on entering. "I am glad that youinvited me, for it is long since I have had the pleasure oftalking with you. We both have been greatly occupied. For someweeks Bianca Biannetti has taken all my time. "

He was perfectly unconstrained, though not at all gladsome in hismanner. Darvid, standing at the round table, looked at his sonquickly. 

"Are you in love with that singer?" asked he. 

Only then did Maryan laugh unaffectedly, almost loudly. 

"What a question, my father; love is a sanctuary, built on apoppy-seed; love then is sacred; while my fancy for thatbeautiful Bianca--"

"Is a poppy-seed which you are transporting through the world onspecial trains, " finished Darvid. 

"Have you heard of that, father?"

"I have seen it. "

"Ah, you were at the station! Strange that I did not see you. "

He made a gesture of contempt with his hand. 

"I was disappointed. I planned that surprise for Bianca, and feltsure of a lively pleasure. When the time came I convinced myselfthat the affair was a trifle, not new, and, like everything, stupid. So it is always: what imagination builds up in a longtime, criticism overturns in a twinkle. It is impossible toinvent anything important. The world is so aged that it has cometo us a worn-out old rag. "

He took a seat on one of the armchairs surrounding the table, andput his hat on the carpet. Darvid replied without changing hisposture:

"Nothing wonderful; when imagination builds up stupiditiescriticism overturns the building in a twinkle--"

"Who can be sure that he is building up wisdom?" interruptedMaryan. 

Then, taking a cigarette-case from his pocket, he asked:

"Do you permit, father?" Then, handing the cigarette-case, withgreat politeness, to Darvid, he added:

"But, perhaps, you will smoke also?"

Darvid, with thick wrinkles between his brows, shook his head andsat down. 

"Why did you leave the university soon after I went away?" askedhe. "I inquired of you touching this several times by letter, butyou have never given me a definite answer. "

"I beg pardon for that, father, but I am wonderfully slow inwriting letters. I will explain all to you willingly in words--"

Darvid interrupted:

"I have no time for long talk, so tell me at once. Have you nolove for science?"

Maryan let out a streak of smoke from his lips, and spoke withdeliberation:

"I feel no repugnance whatever toward science. I read much, andmental curiosity is just one of the most emphatic traits of myindividuality. In childhood I swallowed books in monumentalnumbers, but I have never learned school lessons. All wereastonished at this, and still the thing is simple, it lies quiteon the surface. Common individualities yield to rules, butenergetic and higher ones will not endure them. Rules and dutyare stables in which humanity confines its beasts, to preventthem from injuring fields under culture. Cattle and sheep standpatiently in the enclosures, higher organisms break them down andgo out into freedom. I need absolute freedom in all things;and, -therefore, I stopped going to inns of science, which giveout this science at stated hours, in certain sorts and doses. Though, even in this regard, I showed many good intentions, owingto the entreaties and persuasions of mamma. From legal studies Ibetook myself to the study of nature, and turned from that tophilosophy, thinking that something would occupy me, and that Ishould be able to still that real storm of desperation whichseized poor mamma. But I was not able. The professors werecontemptible, my fellow-students a rabble. Society relationsamused me in those days, and occupied me: imagination swept mefarther and higher. So I stopped a labor which was annoying andirritating, and which, moreover, had no object. "

He quenched his cigarette stump in the ash-pan, and, sinkingagain into the deep armchair, continued:

"So far as I have been able to observe, people study scienceregularly for one of two purposes: either they intend to devotethemselves to what is called the salvation of mankind, or theyneed to win a morsel of bread for their stomachs. Neither ofthese objects could be mine; for, as to the first, I hold theprinciple of individuality carried quite to anarchy. Theso-called salvation of society is, for our decadent epoch, afable, quite impossible; and the naked truth is, that each manlives for himself, and in his own fashion. The man whom fateserves well passes his life in a manner more or less agreeable;if it serves him ill--he perishes. Luck, and the chance meetingof causes, arranges everything. It is impossible to turn theearth into a general paradise, just as it is to change a smallplanet into an immense one. The salvation of society is one ofthe narcotics invented to lull the sufferings of people. Altruists possess a whole drug-shop of these narcotics; whoeverwishes has the right to use them; but, as for me, I prefer not tobe lulled to sleep. I am an individualist, and do not understandwhy Pavel must suffer for the purpose of decreasing the pains ofGavel. Let Gavel, as well as Pavel, think of himself; and, ifthey are clever, they will both help themselves somehow withoutturning to labelled bottles. This is my conviction about one ofthe objects for which people make regular studies in science. Asto the other--"

He took out his cigarette-ease again, and, lighting a cigarette, finished:

"As to the other object, that is a simple thing; since being yourson, my father, I shall not need to bake my own bread. Such is myconfession of faith which I have laid down before you; all themore readily since I have long cherished a genuine reverence foryour strength of mind and independence. I am certain, too, thatby no one could I be understood better than by you, my father. "

He was mistaken. The man to whom he was talking so fluently andpolitely did not understand him in any sense. 

For the first time in his life, perhaps, Darvid did notunderstand the person with whom he was talking. The millionnairewas astounded. He had expected to find a frivolous youth, whompassions had pushed into extravagance and idleness; meanwhile, areasoning, disenchanted sage sat before him, with bitterness onhis lips and irony in his speech and eyes. That sour wisdom, themeasureless belief in himself and his opinions, with theindependence which accompanied it, were found in a slender, delicate, and rosy-faced youth, with eyes as blue asforget-me-nots, and came from lips slightly faded, but marked bya tiny, youthful moustache. Besides, the perfect elegance ofmanner, the aestheticism and irreproachable grace in movements, in voice, in compliments, the utterance of which he rounded verybeautifully. 

Darvid was astounded. He had found no time in his life to observethe new directions which thought and character were taking in theworld; nor for observing the changed forms in which time mouldsthe various generations of mankind. He was dumbfounded, speechless, and only after a while did an ironical smile appearon his lips--that lad with his theories was absurd!

"All that you have said is simply ridiculous. You are making aprinciple out of a thorough absence of principles. At your agesuch opinions and such coolness are incredible. At your age, which is almost that of a child, and with your scant training, they are, out and out, ridiculous. "

Maryan, with a quick movement, raised his head and looked withastonishment at his father. He, too, had expected somethingentirely different. 

"Ridiculous!" cried he; "what does this mean, father? This is notargument. I felt sure that we should agree perfectly. With theprofoundest astonishment I see that this is not the case. How isit, my father, then, you do not take up the motto: each forhimself, and in his own way? Still, it is impossible for any manto carry contempt for all painted pots farther than you do; thanyou have carried it all your life. But, perhaps, this differencein our opinions is only apparent? I beg you to give me argument. The charge of ridiculousness is not argument. I may beridiculous, and be right. A lack of principles? Very well;principles form one of the most brightly painted of all pots, and, therefore, it is most difficult to see the clay. But, nevermind; I ask for a closer description. What principles do youvalue, father?"

Darvid, with a strong quiver in his face, answered:

"What? Oh, moral. Naturally, moral principles--"

"Yes, yes, but I ask for an accurate definition. What are theycalled; what are the names of those principles?"

Darvid was silent. What are they called? Was he a priest, or agoverness, to break his head over such questions? If it were aquestion of law, mathematics, architecture, guilds, banks--but hehad never occupied himself with morals; he had not had the time. A deep anger began to possess him, and his words hissed somewhatthrough his lips; when, after some silence, he added:

"My dear, you have made a mistake in the address. It is not theoffice of a father to instil moral principles into children. Thatis the province of mothers. Fathers have no time for that work. Go back in memory to your childhood; recall the principles whichyour mother implanted in you, and you will find an answer to yourquestion. "

Maryan laughed. 

"What you say, father, reminds me of one of my friends who writesbooks. A poor devil, but we receive him into our set, for he hastalent--that legitimizes. Well, on a time, someone asked him:'What do you do when, in writing, you meet a difficulty?' 'I tryto overcome it, ' answered he. 'But if you can't overcome it?''Then I dodge; or, I run to one side like a rabbit, and avoidsaying that which I know not how to say. ' Well, you have acted, dear father, like this author. You have dodged! Ha! ha! ha!"

He laughed, but Darvid grew gloomier and stiffer. It was strange, but true, that in presence of that professor he felt himself moreand more a pupil. 

"Let us leave poor, dear mamma in peace, " continued Maryan. "Sheis the impersonation of charm and sweetness. If there is stillanything of this sort which for me is not a painted pot yet, itis the tenderness which I feel for mamma. She has spoken to meoften, indeed; and she speaks, even now, of principles, but thebest and dearest of women is only a woman. Sentiment, routine, and, besides, want of logic: theory without end and practicenowhere, is not that the case with women? You know them betterthan I, father; for you have had more time to explore this partof the universe. "

His azure eyes glittered with sparks; his golden curls fell lowon his white forehead; and from his lips, shaded by a tinymustache, the words came out with increasing boldness andfluency, and more thickly intermingled with a sarcastic smile:

"As for me, were I an old maid, I should become a Sister ofCharity; for that office has always a certain position in theworld, and the stiff bonnet casts a saving shadow on wrinkles. Since I am who I am, I think thus of principles: they depend onthe place; the time; the geographical position; and the evolutionwhich society is accomplishing. If the heavens had created me anancient Greek, my principle would have been to battle for freedomagainst Asiatics, and to be enamoured of a beautiful boy. If inthe Middle Ages, I should have fought for the honor of my ladyand burnt men alive on blazing piles. In the Orient, I shouldpossess, openly, a number of wives, accommodated only to my wish;in the West, principle commands a man to pretend that he has onlyone wife. In Europe, it is my duty to honor my father and mother;in the Fiji Islands it would be criminal for me not to put themto death at the proper moment. Wretched makeup--hash, with whichour age does not wish now to feed itself. Our age is too old, andits palate is too practised, not to distinguish figs frompomegranates. We children of an advanced age, decadents, knowwell that man may win much, but will never gain absolute truth. It does not exist. All things are relative. My only principle is, that I exist, and use my will, my only interest is to know how towill. Many other things might be said, but what use? Still, Iwill add to what is already said. You, my father, are anuncommonly wise man. You must think, therefore, just as I do; youspeak differently only because people have the habit of talkingin that way--to children!"

Darvid seemed to hear this speech out, only mechanically; andwhen Maryan, with a short and somewhat sharp laugh, pronouncedthe last words and was silent, the following words broke from himmore quickly than words had ever left his mouth before:

"Not true. You are greatly mistaken. I think and act differentlyfrom what you say. I have not had time to meditate over thetheory of principles; but all my life has rested on one ofthem--on labor. Skilled and iron labor was my principle, and ithas made me what I am--"

"Pardon me for interrupting, " exclaimed Maryan. "I beg youearnestly, but permit one question: What was the object of yourlabor? What was the object? That will settle everything; for aprinciple can be found only in the object, not in the labor, which is only the means of obtaining an end. What was yourobject, my father? Of course, it was not the salvation of theworld, but the satisfaction of your own desires--your own--notany put on you beforehand, and accepted obediently; but your ownindividual desires. The object of them was great wealth--a highposition. Through labor you strive to acquire these, and I do notsee here any principle except that which I myselfpossess--namely: it is necessary to know how to will. In the veryessence of things we agree; only I, with the sincerest homage, have recognized in you a master. Frequently have I thought withwhat perfect logic, with what unbending will, you have freedyourself from the labels which other men, even wise ones for theperiod, have never ceased from pasting on their persons. If inyour career you had knocked against painted pots, labelled:birthplace, fatherland, humanity, charity, etc. , you would havegone at considerably less speed, and not gone so far. But youwere astonishingly logical. With amazing strength andunsparingness you have known how to will. It is from this pointprecisely that I looked, and I was filled with real admiration. During your absence, of more than three years, I called youfrequently, in thought, a superhuman. Friederich Nietscheimagined such men as you when--"

He stopped here, raising a glance full of astonishment at hisfather's face. Darvid, very pale, with quivering temples, stoodup, leaned firmly on the table, and said:

"Enough!"

Unable to conceal the violent emotion which he felt, under anironical tone and laugh, he continued:

"Enough of this mockery of reasoning and argument, and of allthis empty twaddle. If it was your intention to pass anexamination before me, I give you five with plus. You have fluentspeech, and quite a rich vocabulary of words. But I have no timefor those things and proceed to facts and figures. The life whichyou are leading is impossible, and you must change. You mustbegin another life. "

He put emphasis on the word must. Maryan looked at his fatherwith an amazement which seemed to take away his speech. 

"You have not ended your twenty-third year yet, and the historyof your romances has acquired broad notoriety in the world anumber of times--"

Maryan recovered from his amazement slowly. 

"Affairs so completely personal--" began he with a hesitatingvoice. 

Darvid, paying no attention to the interruption, continued:

"The sum which you lost in betting at the last races was, evenfor my fortune, considerable--thirty thousand. "

Maryan had now almost recovered his balance. 

"If this shrift is indispensable I will correct thefigures--thirty-six thousand. "

"The suppers which you give to friends, male and female, have thefame of Lucullus feasts. "

Maryan, with sparks of hidden irritation in his eyes, laughed. 

"An exaggeration! Our poor Borel has no idea of Lucullus, butthat he plunders us, unmercifully, is true. "

"He knows how to will!" threw in Darvid. 

Maryan raised his eyes to him, and said:

"He is making a fortune. "

This time, in his turn, astonishment was depicted on the face ofDarvid, indignant to that degree that a slight flush appeared oncheeks generally pale. 

"Folly!" hissed he, and immediately restrained himself. 

"You are incurring enormous debts; on what security?"

Maryan, at least apparently, had regained perfect confidence inhimself. With eyes slightly blinking he seemed to look at apicture on the wall. 

"That is the affair of my creditors, " said he. "They must havethis in view, that I am your son. "

"But if I should wish not to pay your debts?"

Maryan smiled with incredulity. 

"I doubt that. Such a smash-up, as refusal to pay my debts, wouldinjure you also, my father. Besides, the sums are not fabulous. "

"How much?"

"I cannot tell the exact figure, but approximately they are--"

He mentioned figures. Darvid repeated them indifferently. 

"About a quarter of a million. Very good. I shall be far fromruin this time, but in future--I make no reproaches; for to do sowould be to lose time. What has dropped into the past is lost. But the future must be different. "

On the word must he laid emphasis again. With a quick movement heput his glasses on his nose, and taking a cigarette from abeautiful box, he put the end of it at the flame of one of thecandles burning on the desk. He seemed perfectly calm; but behindhis eyeglasses steel sparks flew, and the cigarette did notignite, held by fingers which trembled somewhat. Turning from thedesk to the table, he said:

"I will pay your debts at once; and the pension which, threeyears ago, I appointed to you--that is six thousand yearly--Ileave at your disposal. But you will leave the city two weeksfrom now, and go to--"

He named a place very remote, situated in the heart of theEmpire. 

"In that place is an iron mill, and also glass-works; in thesetwo establishments I am one of the chief shareholders. You willtake the office designated by the director, who is a shareholder, and a friend of mine; under his guidance and indications you willbegin a life of labor. "

In Maryan's eyes again appeared amazement without limit; but onhis lips quivered a smile somewhat incredulous, somewhat jeering. 

"What is this to be?" asked he. "Penance for sins? Punishment?"

"No, " answered Darvid; "only a school. Not a school forreasoning, for you have too much of that already; but forcharacter. You must learn three things: economy, modesty, andlabor. "

Quenching in the ash-pan the fifth or sixth cigarette, Maryaninquired:

"But if--perchance--I should not agree to enter that school?"

Darvid answered immediately:

"In that case you will remain here, but without means ofindependent existence. You will be free to live under my roof, and appear at the parental table; but you will not receive apersonal income of any kind. At the same time, I will publish inthe newspapers that I shall not pay your debts hereafter. What Ihave said, I will do. Take your choice. "

That he would do what he had said any man who saw him then mightfeel certain. 

The bloom on Maryan's cheeks took on a brick color; his eyesfilled with steel sparks. 

"The system of taking fortresses through famine, " said he, in anundertone; and, then with head inclined somewhat, and eyes fixedon the carpet, he said:

"I am astonished. I thought, father, that in spite of my seeingyou rarely, I knew you well; now I find that I did not know youat all. I admired in you that power of thought which was able tostrike from you the bonds of every prejudice; now, I haveconvinced myself that your ideas are not only patriarchal, butdespotic. This is a deception which pains. I wonder myself, even, that this affects me so powerfully; but in falling from heightsone must always hurt, even the point of the nose. This is onelesson more not to climb heights. I have in me a cursedimagination which leads me astray. One more mirage has vanished;one more painted pot has lost its colors. What is to be done?"

He said this in a low voice, biting his lower lip at times; hewas pained in reality, and deeply. After a while he continued:

"What is to be done? I must be resigned to the disappointmentwhich has met me; but as to disposing of my person so absolutely, I protest. Had it been your intention, my father, to make amill-hand of me, you should have begun that work earlier. Myindividuality is now developed, and cannot be pounded in throughthe gate of a given cemetery. To rear me as a great lord andpermit--even demand--during a rather long period that I shoulduse all the good things of society, and be distinguished mostbrilliantly for your sake, and then thrust into a school ofeconomy, modesty, and labor is--pardon me if I call the thing byits name--illogical and devoid of sequence. I might even add, that it lacks justice; but I do not wish to defend myself witharguments taken from painted pots. One thing is certain--namelythis: that I shall not be the victim of patriarchal despotism. "

He rose, took his hat from the carpet, and calmly, elegantly, butwith a brick-colored flush on his cheeks, and a blue, swollenvein on his forehead, he added:

"I know not what I shall do. It may happen me to be the creatorof my own destiny. I know how to be this; and I shall decide morereadily to be a workman at my own will than at the will ofanother. I shall surely leave this place. Expatriation has cometo my mind more than once, but not in the direction in which youhave seen fit to indicate. Besides, I do not know yet, for thishas fallen suddenly. I shall look into myself; I shall lookaround me. Meanwhile, I must go; for I have promised one of myfriends to be at a certain collector's place at a given hour, toexamine a very curious picture. It is an original; an authenticOverbeck. A rare thing; a real find--I take farewell of you, myfather. "

He made a low bow and went out. Exquisite elegance did not deserthim for an instant; still, in the expression of his face, andespecially his excited complexion, and his voice, too, indignation and distress were evident in a degree which borderedon suffering. 

The door of the antechamber opened and closed. Darvid was as ifpetrified. What was this? What had happened? Was it possible thatthis should be the end of the conversation, and that such aconversation should end in Overbeck, and a perfectly elegant bow?Wonderful man! Yes, for that was no petulant child, with childishrequests, evasions, outbursts; but a premature man, almost an oldman. A reasoner; a pessimist; a sceptic. A genial head! Whatelegance! What command of self. A princely exterior. Marvellousman! What could he do with him? If he had asked for forgiveness;had promised, in part, even to accommodate himself to hisfather's wishes; even to change his life a little. But this ironpersistence and unshaken confidence in himself, joined withperfect politeness, and with reason which would not yield a step!What was to be done with him? Fortresses are taken sometimesthrough famine; but, suppose it is resolved on everything exceptyielding. Well, he would try; he would keep his word; he wouldsee. 

A servant at the door announced:

"The horses are ready. "

He was invited to dine at the house of one of the greatestdignitaries in the city. He would have given much to remain thatday in quiet. But he had to go. In his position--with hisbusiness--to offend such a personage might involve results thatwould be very disagreeable. Besides, he would meet someone therewhose good will also was necessary. He did not wish to go; but hewould do violence to himself and go. Is not that the firm andstrict observance of principle? What had that milksop said? Thathe did not recognize principles, and would not observe them? Whocould treat himself more sternly and mercilessly than he? Howmany of the most beautiful flowers of life had he east aside; howmany sleepless nights had he passed, and borne even physical toilfor the principle of untiring labor--merciless iron labor!

In a dress-coat, his bosom covered with the finest of linen, andwith glittering diamond buttons, with ruddy side-whiskers, a paleand lean face, unbending, irreproachable in dress, and correct inposture, he stood in the middle of his study, and was drawing onhis light gloves very slowly. Taking his hat he thought that hefelt a decided sourness and a bitterness in his person, whichwould make the most famous dishes, on the table of the dignitary, ill-tasting. What was to be done? He had to go. Principle beyondall things else!

When he was descending the stairway, in his fur-coat and hat, heheard the rustle of silk garments on the first landing, and arather loud conversation in English. He recognized the voices ofhis elder daughter and Baron Emil; but he saw Malvina first; shewas in front of the young couple. With elegant politeness hepushed up to the wall so that his wife might have more room, andraising his hat, with the most agreeable smile which his lipscould give, he asked:

"The ladies are coming from visits, of course?"

There were witnesses of the meeting. Malvina, wrapped in a fur, the white edges of which appeared from under deep black velvet, answered, also with a smile:

"Yes, we have made some visits. "

But Irene, who was standing some steps lower, caught up theconversation with a vivacity unusual for her. 

"We are coming just now from the shops, where we met the baron. "

"What are your plans for the evening?" inquired Darvid again. 

"We shall remain at home, '" answered Malvina. 

"How is that?--but the party at Prince and Princess Zeno's!"

"We had no intention--" said Malvina, in an attempt atself-defence; but she saw the look of her husband, and the voicebroke in her throat. 

"You and your daughter will go to that party, " said he, with alow whisper, which hissed from his lips. And immediately he addedaloud, with a smile: "Ladies, I advise you to be at that party. "

Malvina became almost as white as the fur which encircled herneck, and at that moment Irene asked:

"Will you be there, father?"

"I will run in for a while. As usual, I have no time. "

"What a pity, " said Baron Emil, "that I cannot offer you a partof mine as a gift. In this regard I am a regular Dives. "

"And I a beggar! For this reason I must take farewell of you. "

He raised his hat and had begun to descend when he heard Irene'svoice behind him, calling:

"My father!"

She told her mother and the baron that she wished to exchange afew words with her father, and ran down the steps. The splendidentrance was empty and brightly lighted with lamps; but theliveried Swiss, at sight of the master of the house, stood withhis hand on the latch of the glass door. At the foot of thestairs a tall young lady, in a black cloak lined with fur, veryformal and very pale, began to speak French:

"Pardon me, that in a place so unfitting, I must tell you thatthe ball, of which you have spoken to Cara, cannot take placethis winter. "

Darvid, greatly astonished, inquired:

"Why?"

Irene's blue eyes glittered under the fantastic rim of her hat, as she answered:

"Because the very thought of that ball has disturbed mammagreatly. "

After a moment of silence Darvid asked, slowly:

"Has your mother conceived a distaste for amusements?"

"Yes, father, and I need not enlighten you as to the cause ofthis feeling. There are people who cannot amuse themselves incertain positions. "

"In certain positions? In what position is your mother?"

He made this inquiry in a voice betraying a fear which he couldnot conceal. This thought was sounding in his head: "Can she knowit?" But Irene said, in a voice almost husky:

"You and I both know her position well, father--but as to thisball--"

"This ball, " interrupted Darvid, "is necessary to me for variousreasons, and will take place in our house after a few weeks. "

"Oh, my father, " said Irene, with a nervous, dry laugh, "je vousadresse ma sommation respectueuse, that it should not take place!Mamma and I are greatly opposed to it; therefore, I havepermitted myself to detain you for a moment, and say--" The smiledisappeared entirely from her lips when she finished; "and say toyou that this ball will not take place. "

"What does this mean?" began Darvid; but suddenly he restrainedhimself. 

The Swiss stood at the door; at the top of the stairs was anotherservant. So, raising his hat to his daughter, he finished theconversation in a language understandable to the servants:

"Pardon me; I have no time. I shall be late. We will finish thisconversation another time. "

When the carriage, whining on the snow, rolled along the crowdedstreets of the city, in the light of the streetlamps which fellon it, appeared Darvid's face, with an expression of terror. Thatpallid, thin face, with ruddy whiskers, and a collar of silveryfur, was visible for a moment with eyes widely open, with raisedbrows, with the words hanging on his lips: "She knowseverything!--ghastly!" and after a while it sank again into thedarkness which filled the carriage. 

CHAPTER VI

For the first time surely in that city, separated from England bylands and seas, a certain number of people, very limited, it istrue, might admire small, bachelor's apartments, fitted up withtapestry, sculpture, and stained-glass, from the London factoryof Morris, Faulkner, Marshall & Co. The drawing-room was notlarge, but there was in it absolutely nothing which had itsorigin elsewhere than in that factory founded by a famous poetand member of the pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. The famous poet andartist, William Morris, had become a manufacturer for the purposeof correcting aesthetic taste in the multitude, and fillingpeople's dwellings with works of pure beauty. The objects in thisapartment were really beautiful. The tapestry on the wallsrepresented a series of pictures taken from romances ofknighthood, and from marvellous legends: Tristan and Isolde, onthe deck of a ship; Flor and Blancheflor, in a garden of roses;the monk Alberich, in a Dominican habit, descending into hell. The tapestry on the furniture was full of winged heads andfantastic flowers; on all sides were seen great art in weavingand masterly borders, which recalled the margins of oldprayer-books. Dulled and dingy colors, producing the impressionof things which had emerged from the mist of ages, and only glasswindow-screens, framed in columns and pointed arches, werebrilliant with the colors of rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. Thewindow-panes were stained with roses and with the figures ofsaints having pale profiles and wearing bright robes. On one ofthe tables was a bronze pulpit in the form of a Gothic chapel; inanother place was a lamp-support, which represented the Triumphof Death; Death was a woman with the wings of a bat; she was in aflowing robe; she had curved talons on her feet, and a scythe inher hand. This was a sculptured copy of Orcagna, from the CampoSanto of Pisa. In the middle of the dining-room, which was seenbeyond an open door, stood a table, in the style of theeighteenth century. Altogether simple was this table, and likethose under which, instead of carpets, men (of that century) usedto put a layer of hay. The side table (fourteenth century), withpainted carvings; a box (fourteenth century, a copy from theMuseum of Cluny), with fantastic beasts carved on its cover, andwith small figures on the front side, on very narrow niches, figures representing the twelve peers of France; another box, which was in the bedroom, was like this one, but the carvingwhich covered it represented the anointing of Louis XI at Rheims(Museum of Orleans). It stood at the feet of Brother Alberich, who, in his white habit, was entering the black jaws of hell; ittook the place of a sofa, there being no sofa in the room. Boththese boxes of wood and iron, immensely artistic, though merelycopies of authentic relics, served as places in which to keepobjects of art, and served as seats also. Besides these, therewere only a few stools, with arms carved in trefoil shape(fourteenth and fifteenth century), and still fewer armchairs, immensely deep and wide--so-called cathedras--covered with mostwonderful stuffs; but everything was there which was needed, ifthe dwelling was to preserve a purely Middle Age character as tostyle. In the air, slightly colored by the brightlystained-glass, hovered something archaic and exotic--hoaryantiquity reigned--and a critical spirit with the odor ofmysticism might be felt floating around there. But all thisseemed quite comprehensible and natural to anyone who knew BaronEmil, the owner of that dwelling--a trained and exactingaesthete--moreover, the baron was of that school calledMediaeval; and as a Mediaevalist he professed homage for MiddleAges romances and legends; for subtle works of art and forinspirations touching a world beyond the present which resultedfrom them. 

Three years before Maryan Darvid, in company with, or morestrictly under the protection of Kranitski, entered for the firsttime this dwelling, which had been recently furnished. The baronhad brought home, from one of the Mediterranean islands, themortal remains of his mother, who had died just before; he hadreceived from her a great inheritance, and to put his interestsin order he had settled in his native city for a period. Kranitski, long a friend in the house of his father and mother, had known him from childhood, and exhibited on greeting him anoutburst of tenderness. This amused the baron, but pleased himalso a little. "He is a trifle odd, good, poor devil--on thewhole: gentle, perfectly presentable, and active. " Kranitski wasvery active. He went to the boundary to take out of thecustom-house everything which had come to the baron's addressfrom England; and then helped him in the arrangement of thedwelling, which was attended with considerable labor. Upholsterers and other assistants lost their heads at sight ofthose knights, ladies, monks, peers of France, and the Triumph ofDeath, which came out of the boxes. Kranitski was astonished atnothing, for he had read much, and knew many things also, but hecould not be very enthusiastic in this case. When theinstallation was accomplished, with his active and skilfulassistance, he thought: "The place is funereal, and there islittle comfort here. " He looked askance somewhat at the boxeswith the peers of France and Louis XI. On them. The covers ofthese boxes, rough with carving, did not seem to him the mostagreeable places to sit on. He said nothing, however, for he wasashamed to confess that he did not understand or did not favorthat which was the flower of the newest exotic fashion. Hevisited the baron and spent many hours in his dwelling, and soonhe took there a second man--a young friend of his. When MaryanDarvid found himself for the first time in the company and at thehouse of a Mediaevalist, he was confused, like a man who isstanding in the presence of something immensely above him. Almostten years older, the baron surpassed Maryan immeasurably in allbranches of knowledge, both of books and life; and his littledwelling was a marvel of originality and outlay. Maryan felt poorboth in body and spirit. Though a yearly allowance of sixthousand received from his father had not been enough up to thattime, it seemed to him then a chip, only fit to be kicked away. As to the mental side, he was simply ashamed that he could stillfind any pleasant thing in that world which surrounded him, andin the life which he was leading. Commonness, cheapness, vulgarity! The meaning of these words he understood clearly afterhe had been in the baron's society. Even earlier he had begun tofeel the need of something loftier; something beyond thosepleasures of the senses--of fancy and of vanity--which he hadexperienced, though these were considerable. The substance andnature of these pleasures lay on the surface--they wereaccessible to a considerable number of people. The baron, in themanner usual with him, speaking somewhat through his nose andteeth, said:

"We, the experienced and disenchanted, seek for new shivers, justas alchemists of the Middle Ages sought for gold. We are insearch of the rare and of the novel. "

In search of the rare and the novel in shivers, or universalimpressions: sensuous, mental, and aesthetic, Maryan went oncewith the baron, and a second time alone, on a journey throughEurope. He visited many countries and capitals. To investigatethe Salvation Army, he joined its ranks for a period in England. In Germany he was connected with the almost legendary, politico-religious sect which bears the name Fahrende Leute; and, again, for some time, in an immense wagon drawn by giganticMechlenburgers, he wandered through the mountainous Hartz forestand along the banks of the picturesque Saal; he spent most timein Paris, where, with the theosophists he summoned up spirits, and with the decadents, otherwise known as incoherents, and stillotherwise as the accursed poets; in the club of hashish-eaters hehad dreams and visions brought on by using narcotics. Besides, hesaw many other rare and peculiar things; but he was ever hamperedby slender financial means and the need of incurring great debts;and was irritated by the impossibility of finding anything whichcould satisfy him permanently, or, at least, for a long period. He felt satisfactions, but brief ones. Everything of which he haddreamed seemed less after he had attained it--more common, weakerthan in his imagining. The brightness was dimmed; on the glitterthere were defects; the warm inspirations which came from afar, grew stiff when they were touched, stiffened, as oil does whenfloating on water. In the taste of things, sweetness and tartnessbecame insipid and nauseous, the moment they reached his palate. 

This was by no means a surfeit devoid of appetites; but, on thecontrary, such an immense flood of appetites that the insurgentwave of them struck the region of the impossible with fury, because it could not rush over that barrier. This was also aninflammation of the fancy, which had risen from an active mind, and which early and numerous experiences had turned into afestering wound. Finally, it was also the placing of self on someimagined summit, standing apart and aloft, beyond and above all. I--and the rabble. What is not I, and a handful like me--is therabble. What is to be mine cannot be of the rabble; what is ofthe rabble must be not of mine. This pride was not of birth ormoney; it might be called nervous mental arrogance. Mentalsummits other than those of the rabble, and other requirements ofthe nerves; the highest bloom of human civilization--sickly, butthe highest; the crash, but also the coronation of mankind. Inall this there was a principle--one, but indestructible: therespect of individuality; the preservation of it from alllimitations and changes which might come from outside; a respectreaching the height of worship. Everything might be, according totime and place, a painted pot; but individuality (that is, theway in which a man's wishes, tastes, way of thinking werefashioned) was sacred--the only sacred thing. It was notpermitted to give this into captivity to anyone or anything, orto submit it to criticisms, or corrections. I am what I am; and Iwill remain myself. I will and I am obliged to know how towill--something like the superhuman preached by FriedrichNietsche. The baron's dwelling was not only original andfabulously expensive, but it had in itself besides, that whichthe Germans define by the word Stimmung. A number of youngpolyglots examined for a long time various languages of Europe tofind a word which would answer best to the German Stimmung, tillMaryan first, possessing the greatest linguistic capacity, cameon the Polish expression nastroj (tone of mind). Yes, theyagreed, universally, that the baron's dwelling produced a tone ofmind; an impression not of what was in it, but of something ofwhich it was the mysterious expression or symbol. It produced animpression which had its cause beyond this world. To believe insomething beyond this world does not mean to profess areligion--as that of Buddha, Zoroaster, or Chrystos. No, ofcourse not; that would be well for early ages and infantilepeople; .. Old ones, too, run wild after fables, for the principleof the beautiful is in these fables; but they do not let fableslead them off by the nose. An impression from beyond the world issomething entirely different; it is a shiver of delights whichare unknown here, and only anticipated, coming from a worldinaccessible to the senses. That such a world exists is shown bythe enormous poverty of this one, and the mad monotony of thosesources of pleasure which are contained in the world accessibleto human senses. A poet is so far a poet, an aesthete so far anaesthete, as he is able, by intuition and unheard-of delicacy ofnerves, to burst into the world above the senses and toexperience the taste, or rather the odor, which goes before it. For it is an absolute condition that the feeling should be hazy, something in the nature of an odor; or, better still, the echo ofan odor. No key of a musical instrument is to be touched; nodefinite features are to be drawn; the tone of mind alone is tobe produced. The baron's dwelling gave the tone of mind foranother world. He and his associates believed in another world, beyond the earth and the grave; on the basis of the poverty andcommonness of the world before the grave--that is, in despair ofthe case. For them it was not subject to doubt--that world, theslight odors of which flew to them in moments when they were inthe tone of mind, was filled with perfect beauty, nothing butbeauty; a beauty which, in this world, even by itself alone, raises men above the level of the rabble. If this beauty did notexist, we should be justified in accepting Hartmann's theory ofthe collective suicide of mankind, and in throwing a "bloodyspittle of contempt" at life. A "bloody spittle, " as is knownfrom Arthur Rimbaud's sonnets on consonants, stands before theeyes of everyone who pronounces the vowel i, just as the vowel abrings up the picture of "black, shaggy flies, which buzz aroundterribly fetid objects. "

"Ah, no, my friend! No, no! That passes my power! In heaven'sname I beg you not to say another word!"

With this exclamation Arthur Kranitski, like a pike out of water, struggled in the immensely deep cathedra; and, with his arms inthe air kept calling out:

"Terribly fetid objects! Bloody spittle! that is not poetry--itis not even decent! And those shaggy flies whirlingaround--that--No! I feel a nausea, which mounts to my throat. No, my friends, I will never agree that that is poetry!"

His voice broke, so wounded was he in his aesthetic conceptions. The young men laughed. That dear, honest Pan Kranitski is aninnocent. In spite of his forty and some years clearly sounded, and his romantic experiences, his love for good eating and othernice things, the highest point of extravagance of all sorts forhim were Boccaccio, Paul de Kock, Alfred Musset--simpletons, orbabies. 

Kranitski, after his first impression, had a feeling of shame. 

"Pardon, my dears! An innocent! Not so much of an innocent as mayseem to you. I am far from being an innocent; I understandeverything and am able to experience everything. But, do you see, there is a difference in tastes. Clearness, simplicity, harmony, these are what I like, but yours--yours--"

Again he was carried away by aesthetic indignation, so, throwinghimself back in the chair, with outspread arms, he finished:

"Your making poetry of spittle and foul odor is--do you knowwhat? it is sprinkling a cloaca with holy water! That is what itis. "

In the little drawing-room between the screens of stained glassand that part of the wall on which a knight of the Pound Tablewas bowing to Isolde stood a small organ, and before the organ, at the midday hour, sat Baron Emil playing one of the grandestfugues of Sebastian Bach. Small and fragile, in his morning dressof yellowish flannel, in stockings with colored stripes, andshoes of yellow leather with very sharp tips, he was resting hisshoulder against the arm of the chair carved in a trefoil(fourteenth century); he stretched his arms stiffly and restedhis long bony fingers on various keys of the piano. His delicate, sallow features had an expression of great solemnity; his small, blue eyes looked dreamily into space, and from the glass shade, brightened by the sunlight falling in through the window, purpleand blue rays fell on his faded forehead and ruddy, closely cuthair. 

Besides the baron, who was playing, was present Kranitski, whohad come an hour before and heard from the servant that the baronwas sleeping yet. But that was not true, for a few minutes afterKranitski heard farther back in the building an outburst offemale laughter, to which the nasal voice of the baron, who spokerather long about something, gave answer. The guest smiled andwhispered to the "Triumph of Death, " at which he was looking, "Lili Kerth. "

Then he sank into the cathedra so that in spite of his loftystature he almost disappeared in it. Soon the baron appeared atthe door, and, accustomed to seeing Kranitski at various times, he nodded to him with a brief "Bon jour!" and turned to theorgan. Sitting at the organ he threw these words over his arm:

"We expect Maryan at lunch. "

"But she?" inquired Kranitski from the depth of the long and higharms of the cathedra. 

"She will finish her toilet and go. "

Then he played the Bach fugue. He played, and Kranitski, sank inthe chair, listened and grew sadder and sadder. During recentdays he had grown evidently old; he had become thin; wrinkles hadappeared on his forehead. His person had lost elasticity andself-confidence, lie looked like a man who had received a heavyblow, but he was, as always, dressed carefully, the odor ofperfumes was around him, and a colored handkerchief appeared inhis coat pocket. In presence of the baron's music he grew sad andthen sadder. That music made the place more and more church-like. The figures of saints on the shade under the golden haloes seemedto melt in profound adoration. The "Triumph of Death" spread itswings on the background of subdued colors in the chamber; in thatatmosphere the organ and silence sang a majestic duet. Kranitskibegan to feel the tone of mind mightily. His shoulders bentforward mechanically; he took out of his pocket the goldcigarette case, and thought, while turning it in his fingers:

"Everything passes! Everything is behind me--love and the rest!The grave swallows all things. The days fly, like dust, fly intothe past--into eternity! Eternity! the enigma. "

All at once into the duet, sung by the organ and silence, brokethe loud rattle of a door, then the rustle of silk skirts, tillthere had shot through the dining-room, and halted in the door ofthe drawing-room, a creature who was pretty, not large, excessively noisy, and active of body. She had a short skirt, small feet, a fur-lined cape of the latest style, and a gigantichat which shaded a small, dark, thin, wilted face, with eyesburning like candles and hair gleaming like Venetian gold. Thesilk, the sable, the incredibly long ostrich feathers, thediamonds in her ears, and the loud burst of laughter cut throughthe music of Bach like a silver saw. 

"Eh bien, ne veus-tu pas me dire bon jour, toi, grand beta?Tiens, voila!" (Well, wilt thou not say good-day to me, thougreat beast? Here it is!) With the expression voila! was heard aloud kiss, impressed on the check of the baron, then Lili Kerth, the gleaming of silk, diamonds, eyes, and hair turned toward thedoor of the antechamber and saw Kranitski. 

"Oh, te voila aussi, vieux beau!" (Oh, here thou art too, oldbeau!) She sprang toward the cathedra, and, wringing her hands, exclaimed:

"What a funereal face!" And she spoke on, or rather babbled on inFrench: "Hast disappointments? That is bad! But one must notthink of them. Do as I do. I have disappointments, but I mock atthem. This is how I treat disappointments. "

She made a stop so elastic that her little foot flew into theair, and she touched Kranitski's chin with the point of her shoe. That was a model indication of the method with which one shouldtreat disappointments. 

"Now adieu to the company!" cried she, and rattling her braceletsshe vanished. 

In the chamber there was silence again, in the midst of whichTristan gave a knightly bow to Isolde, and the monk Alberich lethimself down into the jaws of hell; "Triumph of Death" spread herbat-wings, and the saints with their golden haloes crossed theirpale hands on their bright robes. 

The baron was sitting before the organ with his head dropped tohis breast. Kranitski, buried in the cathedra, panted aloud forsome seconds till he said, with a complaining voice:

"It is abominable! I do not wish a cocotte to throw her foot onmy neck when I am thinking of eternity. What confounded tastesyou have! Immediately after leaving Lili Kerth to play thatdivine Bach. Nonsense! mixture! I am not a monk, far from it--butsuch shaking up in one bottle of the profane and the sacred, no, that is vileness swaddled in art. Yes, yes, I beg forgivenessonce more, but in the Holy Scriptures something is said about agold ring in a pig's nose. Voila!"

The baron smiled under his ruddy mustache and said, after awhile:

"That is subtle and not to be understood by everyone. Bach afterLili Kerth--that is the bite, that is the irony of things. Do youknow Baudelaire's quatrain?"

He stood up, and, without declamation, even carelessly, throughhis nose and teeth, gave the quatrain:

"Quand chez le debauche l'aube blanche et vermeil, Entre en societe de l'Ideal rongeur, Par l'operation d'un mystere vengeur, Dans la brute assoupie un Ange se reveille. "

With his hands in the pockets of his flannel sack he pacedthrough the room. 

Maryan had translated that quatrain quite beautifully. Withoutinterrupting his pacing he repeated the translation. 

The bell rang in the antechamber; Maryan entered thedrawing-room. He was paler than usual and had dark lines underhis eyes, which were very bright. Kranitski rushed from thecathedra, and, seizing the young man by both hands, looked intohis face with tenderness:

"At last, at last! I have not seen you for almost a fortnight. Ihave not left the house. I had a little hope that you would visitme. "

"All right, all right!" answered Maryan, and touching the hand ofthe baron, he sat down on the box on which was the anointing ofLouis XI, he rested his shoulders on the bare foot of Alberichand became motionless. 

Maryan continued to be so motionless that not only the limbs ofhis body, but the features of his face seemed benumbed. Had itnot been for his eyes, which were gleaming brightly, he mighthave been mistaken at a distance for a stuffed and elegantlydressed manikin. Baron Emil and Kranitski knew what this meant. According to Maryan that was a chill into which he fell alwaysafter disappointment or disenchantment. He was possessed at suchtimes by a lack of will, which made all movements, even thosewhich were physical, unendurable and difficult. At the same timehe had such a contempt for all things on earth that it did notseem worth the while to him to move hand or lips for any cause. Some French writer has called such a condition of desiccation ofthe heart's interior. Maryan found that definition quiteappropriate. When he sat motionless, deaf and dumb, or walkedlike an automaton moved by springs, he felt exactly as if theinterior of his heart were drying up. 

The baron, too, passed through similar states with somedifferences, however, for feeling contempt instead of lack ofwill, he felt a "red anger, " or what the French call colererouge. He was carried away then by the wish to shut his fist, heat and break, in fact he did beat the servants sometimes, andbreak costly articles. He considered the desiccation of hisfriend's heart in its interior portions with respect, even withsympathy. He, with hands thrust into his yellowish flannelpockets, walked up and down in the chamber and hissed through histeeth:

"We are all stunted. We are breaking down! bah! it is time. Theworld is old. Children of an aged father born with internalcancer. "

Kranitski, hearing this, thought: "Why should a man break downand get a cancer when he is young and rich?" But he did notoppose. He pitied Maryan. He looked at him with an expression ofeyes similar to that with which loving nurses look on sick orcapricious children. 

At lunch Maryan's handsome face was sallow and motionless as awax mask; as a wax mask it stood out on the background of thehigh arms of the chair. He was as silent as a stone. He had noappetite. He ate only a little caviar, and then fell toswallowing an endless number of small cups of black coffee, whichthe baron himself prepared, according to some special recipe, andpoured out. The baron himself drank goblet after goblet of wine, and as to the rest he yawned a great deal more than he ate. ButKranitski's appetite was a success. After some weeks of WidowClemens' meagre kitchen he ate eggs, cutlets, cheese, till hiseyes were gleaming. According to his old acquaintances gastronomyhad always been his weak point--and women. But he drank littleand did not play cards. In spite of hearty eating he did notforget the duties of a welcome guest. He kept up conversationwith the master of the house, who told him carelessly of a rareand beautiful picture found at some collector's. 

"A real, a genuine Overbeck. We were to examine it with Maryan, but since Maryan did not come--" He turned to young Darvid: "Whydid you not come?"

There was no answer. The waxen mask, supported on the arm of thechair, remained motionless and gazed with gloomy eyes into space. 

"Overbeck!" began Kranitski, and added, "a pre-Raphaelite. "

Over Maryan's fixed features ran a quiver caused by betterthoughts. Without the least movement of features or posture hegrumbled:

"Nazarene. "

Kranitski corrected himself hurriedly and with a shamed face. 

"Yes, pardon! A Nazarene. "

"But, naturally, a Nazarene pure blood, " said the baron, growinganimated, "the uninitiated confound Nazarenes withpre-Raphaelites quite erroneously. They form a separate school. This Overbeck is a find. I will say more, it is a discovery. Ifit were dragged out of that den and taken abroad one might do asplendid business with it. "

Warmed by a considerable quantity of wine, his complexion madesomewhat rosy, the baron fell to giving Kranitski an idea whichhad circled long in his brain: "There is in Poland a number ofancient families who are failing financially, and who possessmany remnants of former wealth. There are frequently things ofhigh value not only objects of pure art, but the most variousproducts of former wealth and taste; as, for instance, hangings, tapestry belts, china, tapestry, furniture, and jewellery. Theowners, pushed to the wall by evil circumstances, would sellwillingly, and for a trifle, articles which have great value nowin both hemispheres. One must search for them, it is true, almostas the humanists once sought for Greek and Latin manuscripts, butwhoever could find, purchase, and sell these would open a realmine of great profits. In Europe, England is the country mostfavorable for commercial operations of this kind, but the richestfield is America. To buy here for a trifle and sell in the UnitedStates for gold weighed out to you. But, before beginningbusiness, one should go to America, examine the field, formconnections, take initial steps. Above all approach theundertaking with considerable capital and great knowledge. "

While explaining his idea and the plan of operations which hadcome to his head long before, and drawing from the glassexcellent liquid, the baron became animated, grew young, hislittle eyes under their ruddy brows gleamed sharply. And evenMaryan said all at once in grumbling tones:

"It is an idea!"

"Is it not?" laughed the baron. 

Kranitski listened in silence, with curiosity. Then, halting alittle, he said, with some indecision:

"If your project becomes a fact then you will take me as youragent. I know a little of those things; I know where to look forthem, and I offer you my earnest services--very earnest. "

In spite of the jesting tone one could note in his imploringlook, and in his smile full of timid, uncertain quivers, that hefelt keenly the need of fixing himself to someone or somethingand escaping from the great void yawning under him. 

All three lighted cigars and went to the drawing-room whereMaryan sat again on the Louis XI box, Kranitski sank into acathedra, and the baron opened at the window one sheet of anEnglish paper, which shielded him before the light from his kneesto the crown of his head. He was silent rather long, then frombehind the paper curtain was heard his nasal voice:

"Crushing!"

"What?" inquired Kranitski. 

"The fair at Chicago. "

And he read aloud an account of the preparations for the colossalexhibition which was to be in that American city. 

He accompanied the reading with judgments which containedcomparisons: The old part of the world--the old civilizations, the old common methods and proceedings. 

Besides narrow spaces, familiar horizons--too familiar. ButAmerica was something not worn to rags yet. By a wonderful chancethe baron had not been there, but when he thought of AmericaRimbaud's verses occurred to him. He rose, and, walking throughthe chamber, gave the following:

"Divine vibration of green seas, The peace of fields spotted with animals;

Silences traversed by worlds, by angels. "

"And by millions!" called Maryan from the foot of the white monkAlberich. 

He took his shoulders from the monk's robe, and added:

"Nowhere are there such colossal fortunes, and such powerfulmeans of getting them, as on those fields spotted with animals. "

And all at once, as it were, the desiccating interior of hisheart became animated, he rose and began to walk quickly throughthe chamber, passed the slowly walking baron, and said:

"It is an idea! One must dwell on it. I must go there, orsomewhere else--do something with myself. I am driven from thisplace by one of the greatest disappointments which I have everknown. I reached the bottom of disenchantments yesterday. That iswhy I did not come to look at the Overbeck. I was buried. My lastpainted pot burst. I was disappointed in a man for whom I hadfelt something like honor. "

He spoke English. The baron asked him in English also:

"What has happened?"

And Kranitski, with a little worse accent in the same language, repeated the question a number of times. 

Maryan, continuing to walk through the chamber, narrated theconversation with his father and the ultimatum given him. Thebaron laughed noiselessly, and inquired; Kranitski gave out criesof indignation. Maryan, with a fiery face and feverish movement, added:

"I had thought that man worthy of my admiration. Logical, consequent, unconquerable, formed of one piece. A magnificentmonolith. No sentiments, no prejudices. Permitting no one todisturb the development of his individuality. I understood thathis method of rearing me, and then pushing me to the highestspheres of life, pointed to this, that I was to live for hishonor. I was to be one of the columns of that temple which he hadraised to his own glory. But just that absoluteness with which heused everything for his own purposes roused in me homage. Thepower of producing was in him equal to his power of egotism. Somust it be with every individuality fashioned by nature not on amodel, but originally. I did not know him much, and desired anearer acquaintance. I was certain that we should understand eachother perfectly; that I should behold from nearby a magnificentmonolith. Meanwhile it was stuck over with labels of variouskinds of trash, and covered with half a hundred stains of thepast--"

"He remembered the school of training and labor in time, " laughedKranitski. 

"Peste!" hissed the baron. "What a rheumatism of thought!"

"Moral principles!" added Kranitski, "he himself practises thembeautifully. Let him give even half of his millions to thatpoverty which is ashamed to beg. Oh, he will not! He will not dothat! By the help of moral principles it is easy to put sacredburdens on other men's shoulders. "

"That is it, " added Maryan, "on other men's shoulders you havehit the point, my old man. Yes! So many years he cared fornothing; he considered nothing; now on a sudden he has throwndown the edifice which he himself built. I know not as to others;but, as for me, I shall stick to my rights. I cannot permitmyself to fall a victim to this sad accident, that my father is amental rheumatic. "

He stopped, meditated a moment, then added:

"That is even more than rheumatism of thought; it is theexudation of a decaying past, filling the brain with thecorruption--of a corpse. "

"Corruption of a corpse! very apt this expression!" exclaimed thebaron. 

Kranitski made a wry face in the cathedra, and muttered:

"No, no. What horror! I will never agree to that phrase. "

But no one heard this quiet protest. Now the baron in his turn, walking more and more quickly through the room, spoke on. 

Maryan remained sitting on the Louis XI box while the baronwalked and complained of the narrowness of relations and the lowlevel of civilization in the city:

"This is the real fatherland of darned socks. Everything here hasthe mustiness of locked up store-houses. There is a lack of roomand ventilation. In England William Morris, a great poet, establishes a factory for objects pertaining to art, and makesmillions. I beg you to show anything similar in this place. Darvid has made a colossal fortune only because he was not blind, and did not hold on to his father's fence. Nationality andfa-ther-land, each is a darned sock--one of those labels whichmen with parti-colored clothes paste on a gate before whichdiggers are standing. One must escape from this position. Onemust know how to will. "

The baron said, that as soon as he could bring certain plans ofhis to completion and regulate certain property interests, andeven before regulating them, he would occupy himself withcompleting his new plan. He turned to Maryan:

"Will you be my partner? It would be difficult for me to get onwithout you. You have an excellent feeling for art--you aresubtle--"

"Why not, " answered Maryan. "But one should go first of all andexamine the field; one should go to America before theexhibition. "

"Naturally, before the exhibition, so as to begin action beforeit is over. In the question of capital--"

"I will sell my personal property, which has some value, andincur another debt, " said Maryan, carelessly. 

The baron halted; he thought awhile; his faded face took on thatexpression of roguery which the French call polissonnerie;joyousness seized him. 

"We will shoot off!" cried he; and he made a movement with hisfoot like that which a street-sweeper makes to catch a bark shoethrown up in the air. 

Maryan rose, shook himself out of his lethargy, and said, almostwith delight:

"It is an idea. To America!"

Then from the abyss of the immensely deep and broad cathedraKranitski's voice was heard, orphan-like, timid:

"But will you take me with you, my dears? When you shoot off youwill take me with you, will you not?"

There was no answer. The baron was sitting already before theorgan and had begun to play some grand church composition; in thedignified sound of that music Tristan made a knightly bow toIsolde, and the "Triumph of Death, " with its dark outline, wasreflected on the background of Alberich's white habit, while thesaints painted with golden haloes on the windows clasped theirpale hands above their bright robes. 

CHAPTER VII

Baron Emil said at times to Irene:

"You have the aristocracy of intellect. Your mind is original. There is in you much delicate irony. You are not deceived withpainted pots. "

These words caused her pleasure of the same sort as that whichthe praise of a mountaineer causes an inexperienced travellerwhen he tells him that he knows how to climb neck-breakingsummits. Much irony had flowed into her mind from certainmysterious sides of her life. But she had become conscious ofthis now for the first time, under the guidance and influence ofthe baron. He awed her by the originality of his language andideas, by the absolute sincerity of his disbelief, and hisegotism. During childhood she had seen a mask which astoundedher, and struck her in the very heart. Thenceforth everythingseemed better to her and more agreeable than masks. Moreover, thebaron was to her thinking a finished aesthete, an excellent judgein the whole realm of art, and in this regard she did not deceiveherself greatly. The opinions on art and philosophy, which heproclaimed, interested her through their novelty, and theexpressions which he used purposely, though sometimes brutal andverging on the gutter, roused her curiosity by their singularityand insolence. She imitated him in speech; in his presence sheguarded her lips lest they might let something escape throughwhich she would earn the title of "shepherdess. "

"You are very far from the Arcadian condition, in which I meetpeople here at every step. You are intricate; you are like anorchid, one stem of which has a flower in the form of abutterfly, while the next seems like a death's head. "

She interrupted him with a brief laugh:

"A butterfly is flat. "

Her laugh had a sharp sound, for the cold gleam of the baron'seyes fell on her boldly and persistently. 

"No, " contradicted he, "no; the combination of a death's headwith a butterfly makes a dissonance. That bites and sticks a newpin in the soul. "

"But the Greek harmony?" she inquired. 

With a flattering smile, which conquered her, the baron answered:

"Never mention harmony. That is the milk with which babes werenourished. We subsist on something else. You like game, do younot? but only when it begins to decay. There is no good game, except that which is rank. Very well, we subsist on a world indecay. This is true, but you speak of that darned sock; namely, harmony--ha! ha! ha! You think sometimes one way and sometimesanother. Your soul is full of bites! You are idyllic and alsosatirical. You jeer at idyls, and still, at odd times, you yearnfor one somewhat. Have I touched the point accurately? Are mywords true?"

"True, " answered Irene, dropping her eyelids. 

She dropped her lids because she was ashamed of the discoverywhich the baron had made in her, and for this cause as well, thatshe felt his breath on her face, and caught the odor of certainstrange perfumes which came from him. His eyes sought hers andstrove to pour into them their cold gleam, which was also aburning one. He strove to take her hand, but she withdrew it, andhe, with lowered, drawling, and somewhat nasal tones, said:

"You wish, and again you do not wish; you feel the cry of life inyou and try to turn it into a lyric song. "

The cry of life! Over this phrase Irene halted later on, butbriefly, touched as she had been by premature knowledge, itsmeaning became clear to her straightway. The baron, small, fragile, with a faded face and irregular, was a master in callingforth the "cry of life" in women. His manner with them wasexquisite, but also insolent. In his gray eyes, with the reddenededges of their lids, he had a look which was hypnotising in itspersistence and cold fire. It resembled the glitter ofsteel--pale and penetrating. In the manner in which he held thehand of a woman and placed a kiss on it, in the glances withwhich he seemed to tear her away from her shelter, in theintonation given to certain words, was attained the primitivenessof desire and conquest under cover of polished refinement. Amidthe tedium and dissatisfaction of ordinary and exercisedlovemakers this method seemed cynical, but bold and honest. Itmight have been compared to the shaggy head of a beast stickingout of a basket of heliotropes, which have ever the character ofsameness as has their odor. The head is ugly, but smells of acave and of troglodytes, which among common flowers of dull odorlend it the charm of power and originality. 

Irene thought at once of "great grandfatherliness;" when inpresence of the baron her nerves quivered like chords whentouched in a manner unknown up to that time. She asked herself:"Am I in love?" But when he had gone this question called fromher a brief, ironical smile. She analyzed and criticised thephysical and moral personality of the baron with perfectcoolness, and at moments with a shade of contempt even. 

A vibrio! This expression contained the conception of physicaland moral withering, almost the palpable picture of an existencewhich merely quivers in space, and is barely capable of living. In comparison with this picture she had a presentiment of somewholesome, noble, splendid strength. Disgust for the baron beganto flow around her heart and rise to her lips with a taste thatwas repulsive, and to her brain with a thought that was bitter:Why is this world as it is? Why is it not different? But perhapsit was different somewhere else, but not for her? She had ceasedto believe in an idyl. She had looked too long, and from too neara point, at the tragedy and irony of things to preserve faith inidyls. Maybe there were idyls somewhere, but not in the spherewhere she lived--they were not for her! To yearn for that whichperhaps did not exist at all, which most assuredly did not existfor her! What a "rheumatism of thought" that would be! Her head, with a Japanese knot of fiery hair on the top of it, bent downlow, for the stream of lead from her heart was rising. With amovement usual to her she clasped her long hands, and, squeezingthem violently, thought:

"Well, what of it? I must in every case create some future, andwhy should any other be better than this one? Here at least issincerity on both sides, and a just view of things. "

As time passed she said to herself that what she felt for thebaron was love of a certain kind, and that at the foundation ofthings there is no other love, and if there is any other kind itdoes not signify much, for each kind passes quickly. She began ingeneral to attach less and less weight to that side of life, andalso life itself had for her a charm which was continuallydecreasing. In the gloom of weariness, and the apathy into whichshe was falling, that which connected her with the baron was likea red electric lantern shining on a throng in the street and inthe darkness. It was not the bright sun, nor the silvery moon; itwas just that red lantern which, shining on a throng in thestreet, enabled one to see many curious or brilliant objects. 

She knew of Lili Kerth, and the role which she played as to theworld in general and the baron in particular. The baron in thatcase, as in others, wore no mask; sometimes he accompanied LiliKerth to public promenades, and sometimes even showed himselfwith her in a box at the theatre. That was in contradiction withmorals, especially in view of his relation with Irene; butsubjection to morals, would not that be standing guard overgraves, or the "darned sock?"

In this case Maryan, without knowing why, did not applaud hisfriend. 

"C'est crane, mais trop cochon, " judged he, and he pouted alittle at the baron, but looked with curiosity at his sister, also present in the theatre. Irene sat in her box as usual, calmand full of distinction, a little formal, never charmed withanything, or laughing at anything. As usual she conversed withthe baron between acts, till Maryan, looking at her, sneered, andasked:

"How did your vis-a-vis please you?"

"Qui cette fille?" asked Irene, carelessly. "The color of herhair is superb. Pure Venetian gold. "

No feeling of offence, or modesty. 

"Bravo!" said Maryan. And with comical solemnity in his voice headded: "Dear sister, you have a new mentality altogether. Youhave surpassed my expectations, and now I shall call you my truesister. "

Why? Was she to be naive in a theatre? She knew well that suchthings were done everywhere, and they must exist in the life ofthe baron. And, if they must exist, then let them be open, formysteries--Oh! she preferred anything to masks and mysteries. Besides the question was mainly in this, that that history of thebaron and the famous singer of chansonettes did not concern herin any way. 

One evening outside the windows of the house began the twilight, which was rather pale from snow. In the drawing-room sat Ireneamid the cold whiteness of sculpture, which adorned the walls, and the reflection on polished furniture of blue watered-silk. The young lady was seated at one of the windows on a high stool. On the background of the window-pane, filled with the whitishtwilight, her figure seemed tall, with narrow shoulders, and herprofile somewhat too prolonged. Over this profile rose a knot offiery hair, and the whole figure reminded one of a statue of apriestess, erect and smiling enigmatically. Her eyelids weredrooping, her long hands were clasped on her robe; but the smileswandering over her lips and ever changing, were not those ofsatisfaction. She remembered that in recent days she had met thebaron offener than before. He strove more and more to see her--tomeet her. He simply pursued her--found her frequently in shopswhich she visited with her mother, or alone. When he came he didnot shield himself with the excuse of chance, but said with hisusual sincerity:

"I willed to-day to see you, and I see you. I know how to will!"

This day she had barely entered the shop of a celebrated tailorwhen he entered also, and immediately, with unusual animation, began to tell her of his great project of going to America andsettling there for a long time, perhaps permanently. He wasroused by that idea; he was almost enthusiastic; the hope of newscenes and impressions, perhaps great profits, had fired hisimagination. Of these last he spoke also to Irene. 

"One must move, rouse courage, bring the nerves into action, otherwise they may wither. One must conquer and win. He who doesnot gain victories deserves the grave. Money is an object worthyof conquest, for it opens the gates of life. William Morris is afamous poet and artist, but he became a manufacturer. Heunderstood that contempt for industry is like many other things, a painted pot. Men made this pot and poets painted it inbeautiful colors, then the poets died of hunger. America holds inreserve new horizons. "

He spoke long, and was astonished himself at his own enthusiasm. 

"I thought, " said he, "that I should never know enthusiasm, and Isupposed even that it was a rheumatism of thought. Meanwhile Ifeel enthusiasm, yes, enthusiasm! And it pervades me with adelightful shiver. Do you not share it? Are you not attracted, aswell as I, by distant perspectives, new horizons, 'the divinevibrations of blue seas, the silences traversed by worlds, byangels '--And plagiarizing he repeated the addition made byMaryan: 'And by millions'?"

Yes, she was attracted. Not by the millions; she was too familiarwith them, but the distant perspectives, the new horizons, theshoreless expanses of oceans, and the endless quiet of spaceswhich in the twinkle of an eye were unfolded before herimagination. The dull pain, and the gloomy disgust which torturedher not long before, cried out: "Yes! yes! go, fly far, as far aspossible under new skies, among people of another nationality!Go, fly, seek. "

With a slight flush on her cheeks, which were delicate to thehighest degree, she told all this to the baron, whose crumpled, faded face was gleaming with delight. 

"You make me happy, really happy!" whispered he, and added:"Command me to bow down before you; I will obey and bow down. "

Meanwhile a door-bell was heard every moment in the great shop, and a wave of people passing by reminded Irene of the reason whyshe was there. She turned to an elegant apartment, in which aflood of materials disposed on the furniture was waiting for her. The baron had a knowledge of the wearing apparel of ladies; heliked to speak of it; and more than once, with the accuracy of atailor, and the pleasure of an artist, he told of the originaland peculiar toilets seen in capitals. On this occasion, in thetailor's apartment between great mirrors, in the flood ofunfolded materials, he said:

"I beg you not to dress according to pattern; I beg you not tospoil my delight by forcing me to see on you any of theridiculous styles of this city. I meet no ladies here of subtletaste. There is wealth, frequently there is even taste, butcommon, according to pattern. For you it is necessary to thinkout something new--something symbolic, or rather something whichsymbolizes. A woman's dress should be a symbol of herindividuality. For you it is necessary to think out a dress whichwould symbolize aristocracy of soul and body. "

And he fell to thinking out; and they both fell to thinking out. They selected among colors and kinds of materials; they examinedspecimens, drawings, the baron corrected them, completed themwith details taken from his own fancy. After a certain time theyagreed to one thing: her dress should be flame color. WithIrene's delicate complexion and her fiery hair this would, as thebaron thought, form a whole which would be irritating. 

"In this robe you will be novel and irritating. "

The proprietor of the shop, elegant and important, came in andwent out, inquired, advised, and again left them to their ownthoughts and decisions. They, on their part, amused themselvesbetter and better, surrounded by a light cloud of perfumes whichrose from their clothing, and by the rustle of silks which fellto their feet, like cascades of many colors. The flame-coloredmaterial was selected, still they went on selecting. The baron, with a flush appearing on his cheeks, exclaimed:

"We are passing the time most delightfully, are we not? And whocould have expected it? At a tailor's! But you and I know how toexperience sensations which no one else can experience. For thatit is necessary to have a sixth sense. You and I have the sixthsense. "

Irene began to lose her usual formality and air of distinction;she spoke quickly and much; she laughed aloud, and, a number oftimes, the movement of her bosom and arms became irregular, toolively at moments, but they were full of a half dreamygracefulness. The baron grew silent and looked at her for awhile, then, with rapturous eyes, he began:

"How you are changed at this moment. How charmingly you arechanged! Such surprises interest one--they irritate. You have therare gift of causing surprises. "

With gleaming eyes he begged her insistently to tell him whetherthe change which had taken place, the humor into which she hadfallen, was spontaneous or artificial, the result of feeling, orof coquetry. 

"You are without doubt the product of high training, so it isdifficult to know in you that which is nature and that which isart. And such a person in that changed form is problematical--Ibeg you, I beg you to tell me whether in you this is nature, orart?"

Listening to these words, in which a very insolent idea wascontained, she laughed and turned her eyes away. But bendingtoward her with a smile which might remind one of a satyr, andwith a request in his voice, he asked:

"Is this nature? is it art?"

With a sudden resolve she answered:

"It is nature!"

And she wished to equal the boldness of her answer with theboldness of her look, but a flaming blush shot over her face, andthe lids covered her eyes, into which shame had gushed forth. Though maiden modesty was a painted pot, this new change, towhich Irene had yielded, exercised on the baron a new irritatinginfluence. In the midst of the rustling materials he seized bothher hands, his eyes flashed magnetic rays into her flushed face;he drew her delicate form toward him. She tried to twist herhands away, and with a violent effort strove to throw her bustbackward, but the fragile baron was very strong at that instant;he pressed her hands in his as in a vice, and whispered into hervery face:

"Do not fight against that cry of life which is heard withinyou--I am a despot--I know how to will--"

With the last word he pressed his lips to hers. But that momentshe, too, gained unexpected strength, and in a flash she was somesteps away from him, very pale now and trembling throughout herwhole body. 

"This is too much of nature!" cried she. 

Her head was erect, and from her eyes came flashing sparks, whichsoon melted, however, into cold irony. Shrugging her shoulders, with a smile she exclaimed:

"Dieu! que c'etait vulgaire!"

Then holding her skirt with both hands, as if she wished not totake one atom of dust from that room with her, she went out intothe shop; the baron saw her talk to the tailor for a moment withher usual coolness, and then turn to go with the ordinary wordsof brief leave-taking. 

But now Irene sitting there on that tall stool at the window, surrounded by the fading gleam of the blue watered-silk, andagainst the background of the pane which was covered with awhitish gloom, seemed a statue with a delicate bust, and asomewhat prolonged profile settled in stony fixedness. The "cryof life" possessed as words the charm of novelty and daring, butwhen changed into an act it roused in her every feeling ofoffence and maiden modesty. The shaggy beast had ventured out toofar from behind the heliotropes, and had given forth too rank asmell of the den and the troglodytes. "It is vulgar!" cried sheto the baron, but she understood immediately that what had takenplace was neither new, nor a rare thing, but as old as the humanrace and as vulgar as the street is. The tailor's shop full ofpeople, the ceaseless ringing at the door-bell, the noise ofselling and buying, the passage beyond the window--is the street. A kiss received on the street. Street adventure! A quiver shotdownward through her shoulders. Before her imagination passed thewretched forms of women trailing in the dusk of evening along thesidewalks. On her inclined face a blush came out; that paintedpot called maiden, modesty, under the form of inherited instinctand woman's pride, was laboring in her untiringly and painfully. After a while its place was taken by disgust beyond expression. 

The baron, whose single charm was in his subtlety, appeared nowas a vulgar figure. That kind of mutual love, which she hadthought they felt for each other, when closely analyzed, remindedher of pictures in which Fauns with goats' beards were chasingthrough the forest after Nymphs. On Irene's lips a jeering, almost angry smile, now fixed itself. What did he say: "a sixthsense. " Why a sixth sense in this case? Empty words! The baronjeers at painted pots, but he makes them himself, and paints themin the ancient colors. An idyl is an old thing, and a den is oldalso, but the idyl would be better than the den if only itexisted. But where is it? Her eyes had never seen an idyl, butthey had seen, ah, they had seen what happens and takes placewith loves of men and women, 'and with bonds which bear the nameof sacred! Well, what is to be done with the baron--and America?Such contempt for everything, such disbelief in all things, sucha contemptuous despising of everything, and of her own self aswell, embraced her and possessed her, that at the end of themeditation she said to herself: "It is all one!" She crossed herhands and pressed them firmly across her breast, bent her headsomewhat, and thought: "It is all, all, all one!"

A few tears, one after another, fell on her tightly claspedfingers. "All one! If only the sooner!"

What sooner? Why sooner? With a slow movement she turned her facetoward her mother's apartments; her lips which quivered, and theglistening tear which had fallen on them had the same kind ofexpression that a child has when crying in silence. With browsraised somewhat, she whispered:

"Mamma!"

After a while, under those brows which were like delicate littleflames, her eyes began to grow mild, to lose their tears andtheir irony, until they took on an expression of such delight, asif they were looking at an idyl. 

Meanwhile the air, modified by the gray twilight, was cut by abright moving line. This was Cara going from her father's studywith Puff tugging at her skirt. She hummed a song as she wentforward. When she saw her sister she ceased humming, and calledout from the end of the drawing-room:

"Do you know, Ira, father will dine with us to-day?"

In her voice a note of triumph was heard. After many weeks herfather would sit for the first time with them at the familytable, and then everything would go on as it should go. What itwas that went ill, and why it went so, she knew not. But she hadbeen observing, was astonished, and had fears. With that realsixth sense, which persons of keen sensitiveness possess, shefelt something. She felt in the air a certain oppression, acertain trouble, and, not knowing what these signified, norwhence they were coming, she suffered. In the very same way, organisms with supersensitive nerves feel the approach ofatmospheric storms. Now she advanced with a short step, erect andslender, with Puff at her skirt, while she hummed joyously. 

When Irene entered her mother's study soon after, she saw, by thelamplight, a group composed of three persons. Sitting on thesofa, with glitters of black jet in her light hair, was MalvinaDarvid; nearby, in a low armchair, inclining toward her, wasMaryan, elegant as usual, and before him, with elbows resting onher mother's knees, knelt Cara, a bright, blue strip lying acrossthe black silk robe of her mother. 

"A picture deserving the eyes of Sarah and Rebecca!" suggestedIrene, going straight to the mirror before which she began, withraised arms, to arrange and modify the knot of hair on her head. Maryan, in good humor, was imploring his mother to let him haveher portrait painted by one of the most noted artists in thecity. 

"His brush is famous! I cannot understand how, amid theeffeteness of this city, a talent can rise which is so fresh andindividual. In his landscapes there is a magnificent pleinair, and as a portrait painter he knows how to seize the soul. Mymother, let me have your soul enchanted into a portrait--have younoticed that the eyes of some portraits look on us from beyondthis world? There is an enchanted soul in them. Let me have yourportrait painted by an artist from whose canvas comes a breathfrom beyond this world. "

He inclined his cherub head and kissed his mother's hand, whichwas resting on Cara's shoulder. 

"And kiss me, too!" cried Cara. 

"Sentiment!" said Maryan, straightening himself, "beware ofsentiment, little one. I, thy great-grandfather, say this tothee. "

"Splendidly expressed!" exclaimed Irene from the mirror. "Cara'ssoul is so primitive, yours--"

"So decadent, " put in Maryan. 

"That you have a right to be called her great-grandfather. "

"I greet you great-grandmother!" laughed he at Irene. 

"I say this, mother, for, as you see, I understand my eldersister perfectly, but not the little one yet; however, that willcome some time--surely soon. Mais revenons a nos moutons: Howabout the portrait?"

Malvina laughed. Her face, greatly troubled an hour before, hadgrown young again. A certain sunray had pierced the thick cloudat that moment. She warded off the idea of the portrait. 

"Why? There are too many portraits of me already. Oh, too many!"

"Caricatures!" exclaimed Maryan, "and none of them is mine. I bega portrait for myself specially; my own exclusive property. "

"What for?" repeated Malvina. "Look at the original as often asyou like. Better not have a portrait; then, perhaps, you willfeel the need of seeing me oftener. "

"No reproaches, dear mother! Leave reproaches, threats; let thewhole patriarchal arsenal remain on that side, over there--"

With a gesture he indicated the door leading to the interior ofthe house. 

Cara raised her head from her mother's knees, and her eyesglittered. 

"But on this side let there be only sweetness, only charm, onlythat precious, beautiful weakness, before which I am on my kneesalways. As to this, that I can see the original of the portraitwhen I wish, that is a question! We are grains of sand scatteredover the world by the wind of interesting voyages. "

"Have you some plan of a journey again?" inquired Malvina, alarmed. 

"Yes. It is in indistinct lines yet, but is becoming moredefinite every day. This will be the step of a giant--fleeingbefore that rod with which the all-mighty father is pleased tobeat his children. "

Again, with a gesture he pointed to the door leading to the moredistant apartments, and in the short laugh which accompanied hislast words there was sarcasm--almost hatred. At the same momenthe met Cara's eyes, and asked:

"Why look at me, little one, in that way? There are eyes!curious, anxious, and as frightened as those of a hunted deer. Why so curious? What do you fear?"

Cara hid her face in her mother's dress, quickly. 

"But how would it please you, mamma, to make a trip with me toAmerica?" called Irene from before the mirror. 

She put up the last of her hair, fastened it with a fantasticpin, and said, turning toward her mother:

"I have such Tom Thumb boots that when I put them on I shall bebeyond the sea with three great steps. How does that plan pleaseyou?"

"You give a shower of plans to-day, " jested Malvina. 

"A portrait, flight from the rod, America. "

"A ball!" exclaimed Cara, raising her head. "Do you know of it, Maryan? In a few weeks we shall have a real ball--a grand one. "

"Your tale is curious, little one, tell on, " answered Maryan. "When talk is the question, there is never need to beg Caratwice. "

She sprang up from her knees and told of the hour which she hadspent in her father's study a few days before. She had told hermother and sister of the plan of the ball, but how it rose shehad not told. Something had prevented. Now she would tell themall. Three gentlemen had visited her father: Prince Zeno, CountCharski, and a third person whose name she did not remember, buthe was a large man, tall and broad; his breast glittered withstars and crosses. She, Cara, wished to hide from the guestsbehind the bookshelves--there were shelves behind which she satoften, invisible herself, she saw and heard everything. It was awonderfully comfortable hiding-place, in which her only troublewas Puff; for, when anyone came to the study he wanted to bark, but she squeezed his nose with her hand tightly, and he wassilent. That day she did not go behind the book-shelves, for herfather commanded her to sit in the armchair. So she sat therewith dignity. 

Now she sat on the stool, and showed them in what a posture shehad sat in presence of her father's guests, her hands on herknees, bolt upright, with dignity on her rosy face. Puffie aloneinterrupted this dignity, she said; he crawled up behind her, puthis paws on her shoulder, and touched her with his moist nose. One of the gentlemen turned then to her, and said:

"You have a beautiful dog, young lady. "

"He is very nice, " answered she. 

"And what is his name?" asked the man. 

"Puffie, " explained she. 

She did not laugh, for there was no cause. Puffie was really verynice, and he had a good name, but those gentlemen, while lookingat her, smiled very agreeably, and one of them said to herfather:

"How time passes! Not long ago I saw your younger daughter alittle child, and now--"

The other interrupted: "She is almost grown. And as tall it seemsas her elder sister. "

"We have only very rarely the pleasure of seeing your family insociety this winter, " said the other. 

"Your wife and daughter pass a very secluded life this year, "said the second visitor. 

"My wife complains of frequent neuralgia, " answered father, andthen the unknown, large man talked. 

Hitherto Cara, while giving the conversation of the twogentlemen, changed her voice, imitating the tones, and posture ofeach; now she repeated the words of the large man in the rudestvoice that she could command:

"I have not yet had the honor of being presented to your wife andelder daughter, but I have heard so much, etc. "

Then they talked longer with her father about something else, andwhen going away gave her some nice compliments. She courtesied. She might say with confidence that she had played the role of amature young lady brilliantly. Her father said, after thedeparture of the guests, that he was glad to receive the largeman's visit. The large man might aid him greatly. Then he thoughta while, and said:

"Do you know what, little one, you must show yourself insociety. "

Here Maryan muttered in an undertone:

"He needs a new column in his temple. "

Irene smiled. Malvina feigned not to hear; Cara, given up to hertwittering, twittered on:

"Then father said that mamma and Ira were leading almost the lifeof a cloister, that they received few persons, and went outlittle. That had the appearance of domestic misfortune, or ofbankruptcy. Such an appearance was ugly in general, and harmfulto business. To avoid this there was need to arrange a reception, but grand, and as splendid as possible. The carnival would beover soon, and at the end of the carnival we would give a ball inwhich the 'little one 'would appear in society for the firsttime. Today, an hour ago, father said he would come to us atdinner, and would talk at length about this ball with mamma. "

Here Cara finished the narrative which was somewhat of a dramaticrepresentation. Maryan rose suddenly from his seat. 

"I must go, " said he, standing rigidly, and with a serious face. 

"Stay, Maryan, " said Malvina, in a low voice. 

On her face was a look of pain; a deep wrinkle appeared on herforehead; her voice was imploring. Maryan looked at her, hesitated a while, then dropping into an armchair with themovement of an automaton, muttered:

"Let thy will be done! Let a pot be painted with the color of ason's love--for you, mother. "

From the thought that he must meet his father soon, the interiorof his heart began to desiccate. 

A servant announced the dinner. Cara sprang up from the stool:

"I will go to conduct father!"

She went to the door, but turned back from it, and, dropping onher knees before her mother, put a number of long, passionatekisses on her knees and her hand. Then hanging on her neck, shewhispered in a low voice:

"Golden, only, dearest mamma. " And springing from her knees sheflew out of the room like a bird. 

What did that violent outburst of tenderness for her mother mean?No one knew, neither did she herself, perhaps. Was it a prayerfor someone, or the assurance that she loved greatly not onlythat one, but her mother too? or was it delight that at last shewould see them both together? She flew like a bird through thedrawing-rooms, lighted by lamps burning here and there, till shepushed quietly into her father's study, and put her hand underhis arm at the writing-desk. All rosy, imitating the deep andsolemn voice of the servant, she said:

"Dinner is served!"

Darvid felt a stream of warmth and sweetness flowing to hisbreast. 

"Oh, you rogue!" said he, "you sunray! You little one!"

When he was entering the dining-room soon after with Cara, Maryanled in his mother through the opposite door; she was all in blacksilk and jet. 

Darvid inclined and touched his wife's hand with his lips; onMalvina's face there was a pleasant smile. 

"I am so immensely occupied, " said he, "that I have not timeevery day to inquire after your health. "

"I thank you, my health is excellent. "

At a rich side-table two servants were occupied; at the tablegleaming with crystal and silver stood Miss Mary, graceful andstill young, with puritanic simplicity in her closely fittinggarment, and with smooth hair over her calm forehead. The masterof the house greeted her and expressed his regret that, becauseof business, he could see her only rarely. When all were seatedat table, Malvina, with the experience of a trained lady of thehouse, began conversation:

"We have been talking just now of the United States, with whichIra and Maryan have begun to be greatly interested. "

"No doubt because of the exhibition at Chicago, " said Darvid; "itmust be something colossal indeed. "

Miss Mary mentioned the congress of women which was to meetthere. Malvina and Irene supplemented that statement withdetails; the conversation flowed on smoothly, easily, coolly; itwas filled with various kinds of information. Maryan took no partin it. He sat stiff, deaf, dumb, with fixed features. When heate, his movements had the appearance of an automaton, even hiseyelids winked very rarely. He was a picture of apathy, contempt, and biliousness. Even his fair complexion had grown sallow, andhis lips had paled. He caused exactly the impression of a waxdoll in an elegant dress, with glittering eyes. 

Darvid, with some humor and playfully, spoke of the edifice whichwas to be erected in Chicago according to a plan by a femalearchitect. 

"I tremble for those who are to visit the building. Inarchitecture, equilibrium has immense meaning, and for womenequilibrium is most difficult. Women lose equilibrium so easily, so generally, so inevitably, almost. "

This was said in a manner quite airy and trifling; still--it wasunknown why--in the voice of the speaker certain biting tonesquivered, and a pale flush came out on Malvina's forehead. Irenefell at once to talking most vivaciously with Miss Mary about thelatest movement among English women toward emancipation, andDarvid himself, with some haste, expressed quietly, though withsome irony, opinions touching these movements. 

A great bronze lamp cast abundant light on the table, which wascovered with the brightness of silver and crystal. White-glovedservants, as silent as apparitions, changed the plates adornedwith painted and gilded monograms; with bottles in their handsthey inquired about the kind of wine which they were to pour out;they served dishes from which came the excellent odor oftruffles, pickles, rare meat, and vegetables. A number ofwall-lamps, placed high, lighted the sides of the dining-hall, which was decked with pictures in brightly shining frames, andwith festoons of heavy curtains at the doors and windows. When itleft America, the conversation, carried on in French and English, turned to European capitals and to the various phenomena of lifein them. English was spoken out of regard for Miss Mary, butFrench sometimes, for Darvid and his wife preferred that languageto English. Irene and Cara might have been considered as genuineEnglish. The ready and accurate English; the pure ParisianFrench; the varied information, in an atmosphere of light fallingfrom above on a table glittering with costly plate; the order andthe dignified ornaments of the great hall; the grand scale ofliving seemed undoubted high life. There was a moment in whichDarvid cast his glance around and threw back his head somewhat;his forehead freed itself from wrinkles--smooth, clever, shiningsomewhat at the temples--it seemed to be carved out of ivory. Hisnostrils, delicate and nervous, expanded and contracted, as ifinhaling, with the odor of wines and delicacies, the more subtleand intoxicating odor of his own greatness. But this lasted onlya short time; soon certain pebbles of seriousness and breaths ofdistraction began to interrupt his conversation and to dull hisclear thought. Balancing in two fingers a dessert knife, he saidto Miss Mary:

"I respect your countrymen greatly for their practical sense andsound reason. That's a people--that's a people--"

He stammered somewhat now--a thing which, in his low and fluentspeech, never happened. He was thinking of something else. 

"That is the nation which said to itself: 'Time is money, ' whichalso--"

Again he faltered. His eyes, attracted by an invincible power, turned continually toward that point of the table where blackjets glittered richly and gloomily, and then his lips finishedthe judgment which he had begun:

"Which also possesses to-day the greatest money-power. "

Here Maryan spoke for the first time:

"Not only money; England now leads the newest tendencies in art. "

This was spoken at the edges of his lips, without cooperation ofother parts of his face, which continued fixed; and on Darvid'slips appeared his smile, of which people said that it bristledwith pins. 

"The newest tendencies of art!" repeated he, and the words hissedin his mouth somewhat. "Art is something splendid, but the pityis that it is turned into a plaything by wrongly rearedchildren!"

Maryan raised at his father a look from which a whole flood ofirony rushed forth, and answered, with the edge of his lips:

"He alone is not a child who knows that we are all children, turning everything into playthings for ourselves. The point isthat there are various playthings. "

"Maryan!" whispered Malvina, with an alarm which she could notsuppress. 

Darvid turned his face to her suddenly, and their glances whichtill then had avoided each other carefully, met for a fewseconds; but during that time Darvid's eyes filled with theglitter of keen steel, and Malvina bent her face so low over theplate that, in the sharp light, one could see only her forehead, with its one deep wrinkle. But that same moment Irene began toconverse with her father about London, where he had spent aconsiderable time on two occasions. He answered her at once;spoke long, fluently, and interestingly, engaging also in theconversation Miss Mary, to whom he turned frequently and withpleasure. 

Again the conversation went on smoothly, easily, deliberately. Above the table, in place of the odors of meats and sauces, hovered the light odors of fruit and vanilla. When the dessertwas served, Darvid spoke of fruits peculiar to various climateswhich he had visited in his almost ceaseless journeys; all atonce he stopped the conversation in mid-career, and turned toCara, who struggled a few times with a dry and stubborn cough. 

"I thought that you had recovered entirely. But you are coughingyet. That is sad!"

On the girl's face, which was flushing in a fiery manner, therewas an expression of sorrow or anger. Quickly and broken came thewords from her lips which were pouting like those of an angrychild:

"There are so many sad things in the world, father, that my coughis a bit of dust compared with them. "

This was an answer thoroughly unexpected, but the impressionwhich it might have made was hindered at once by Irene through alaugh and an exclamation too loud, perhaps:

"See where pessimism is going to fix itself! Is Puffie sick?"

"Cara's remark is precocious but pointed, " said Maryan, with theedges of his lips. 

Malvina, too, began to speak. Giving a small cup to her son, sheinquired:

"You like black coffee so well that I ought to reserve anothercup, ought I not?"

Maryan made no answer; with a wrinkle on her forehead, and asmile on her lips, she continued quickly and hurriedly:

"I share your taste for coffee, Maryan. Some time ago I drankmuch coffee, but I saw that it injured my nerves and deprived meof sleep. It is very disagreeable not to sleep, and better togive up a favorite luxury than suffer from insomnia. "

Smiling and moving her head she talked, and talked on with greatcharm, and with a sweetness which always filled the tones of hervoice. She mentioned mere nothings, connecting opinion withopinion, just to talk, to kill time, or avoid other topics. Darvid raised his head somewhat and looked at her through theglasses with which he had shaded his eyes until she bent her headbefore the gleam in those glasses, and her face sank very lowover the cup, and was covered with an expression not to be hiddenby a woman who wants to vanish through the earth, dissolve inair, become a shade, become dust, become a corpse; if she canonly escape from where she is and from being what she is. ThenIrene, with a light tap, dropping her cup on the saucer, began:

"You must know well, father, how they make coffee in the Orient?"

He knew, for he had been in the Orient; and, in a way which waspicturesque enough, he told about the Turks; how, sitting aroundin a circle, they put the favorite drink into their mouthsslowly. 

"They delight themselves with it, as dignified as Magi, andsilent as fish. The time in which they give themselves to thisabsolute rest, composed of black coffee and silence, bears withthem the name 'keif. '"

This word called laughter to the lips of all. Darvid laughed, too. On all faces weariness grew evident. Cara's thin voicecalled out:

"The Turks do well to be silent, for what good is there inpeople's talk? What good is there?"

"Here is a little sage, she is never satisfied with questions, "said Darvid, jestingly. 

"Capacity for criticism is a family trait of ours, " laughedIrene. 

"Cara had been distinguished by curiosity from childhood, " addedMalvina, with a smile. 

Even Maryan, looking at his younger sister, said:

"The time always comes when children begin to speak instead ofprattling. "

Miss Mary, with an anxious forehead under her puritan hair, saidnothing. 

On the faces of all who spoke, anxiety was evident, and above thesmiling lips weariness was present in every eye. 

Malvina rose from her chair; Darvid left his place, bowed to allwith exquisite politeness, and, advancing some steps, gave hisarm to his wife. 

They passed through a small, brightly lighted drawing-room andhalted in the following chamber, where the walls were adornedwith white garlands and the curtains and upholstering were ofblue watered-silk. Beyond, in a small drawing-room. Miss Mary satdown to play chess with Maryan; Cara took her place near them inthe character of observer, and Irene unrolled in the lamp-light apiece of church stuff, very old and time-worn, which the baronhad brought her as a rarity, and which she intended to repair byembroidering it with silk and gold thread. 

Darvid and Malvina stopped among the pieces of blue furniture inthe tempered light of a shade-covered lamp. Malvina was verypale, and her heart must have beaten with violence, for herbreath was hurried. At last that had come which she had waitedfor long and vainly: a positive and decisive conversation. 

With all her strength she desired an explanation, a change ofsome kind, and in any shape, if it would only bring a change inher position. She was waiting, ready to yield to everything, toendure everything, if he would only speak. He spoke, and said:

"To-morrow I shall go to a hunt on the estate of Prince Zeno, andas I go from there to a place where I have business, I shallreturn in ten days, more or less. Immediately after my return, and during the last week of the Carnival, there will be in ourhouse a reception, a ball simply, the most brilliant possible. Mybusiness requires it, and public opinion concerning this familyrequires it also. I wish, too, that Cara should make her firstappearance in society at that ball. I have drawn up, and willsend you a list of persons to whom it is necessary to sendinvitations, persons of whom you might not have thought; the restof society you know better than I do. I know that you can arrangesuch matters excellently, and I trust that this time you will doall that is best. The check-book will be brought you by mysecretary, whose abilities and time you may use without limit, aswell as the check-book. There is no need to hesitate at outlay;everything should be in a style rarely seen in any house, orrather in a style never seen except in this house. This ball isneeded for my business and for--public opinion concerning ourfamily, which opinion is a little, even more than a little, lowered. "

He spoke slowly and politely, with an accent of command at thebasis of the politeness. At the last words he cast into her facea gleam of his eyes which was firm and penetrating, then hebowed, and made a move to go. 

"Aloysius!" cried Malvina, with tightly clasped hands, and shebegan to tremble. How was this? A ball, and nothing more! Thequestion with her was of things as important as human dignity, conscience, unendurable restraint, and fear in the presence ofher children. 

He stopped and inquired:

"What is your command?"

She bowed her head and began:

"I require; I wish to speak with you at length and positively. "

He smiled. 

"For what purpose? We have nothing pleasant to say to each other, and unpleasant conversation injures the nerves more than--blackcoffee. "

She raised her head, and with an effort, to which she broughtherself with difficulty, said:

"Things cannot remain as they are. My position--"

With an expression of profoundest astonishment on his face, heinterrupted:

"Your position! But your position is brilliant!"

He made a gesture which seemed to indicate everything which wasin that drawing-room, and in the whole house; but she blusheddeeply, and like one in whom the sensitive place is touched, exclaimed:

"But this is just what--what I do not wish any longer. I have theright to desire to be free, to withdraw, to cast from myself thisglitter, and go somewhere. "

With all her strength she struggled against the tears which wereoverpowering her. He repeated with the profoundest astonishment:

"You do not wish? You have the right?"

Everything in him--cheeks, wrinkles on his forehead, palelips--trembled with excitement now beyond restraint. But he wasmaster of his voice yet. He spoke in low tones, but with a hiss:

"What right? You have no right! You have lost every right! You donot wish? You have no right to wish, or not to wish. You mustlive as it happens you, and as is needed. As to conversations andserious theatrical scenes, I want none of them--I, who have notlost the right to wish. I am silent, and I will enforce silence. That is, and will always be, our modus vivendi, which, moreover, should be for you the easiest thing in the world to preserve. Youhave everything: a high position, luxury, brilliancy, even thelove of your children as it seems. You have everythingexcept--except--"

He hesitated. His habit of preserving in all cases correctness ofform, struggled with the excitement which had overcome him, andthese words hissed through his lips in a low though envenomedvoice:

"Except--the lover whom you have dismissed, on which deed Icongratulate you, and--my respect, which you have lost, butwithout which you must live on to the end. On this subject we aretalking now for the first and last time. We are talking too long. I am in a hurry to my work. I wish you good-night. "

The bow which he made before his wife might seem from a distancefull of friendly kindness; he withdrew with perfect calmness andfreedom of manner, still Irene went to her mother with a firmthough hurried step, and with the piece of ancient stuff in herhand, she said:

"I am sure that without your assistance I shall not be equal tomy task. To restore this Middle Age wonder requires taste, aneye, shading of colors; all this is beyond my poor ability. "

She stood before her mother, and among the large flowers on thecloth, which was changing from silver to sapphire, she indicatedcertain defects produced by time. Her eyelids blinked withmarvellous quickness, and therefore, perhaps, she did not noticeher mother's chalky pallor, trembling hands, and despairingexpression of eyes. Apparently noticing nothing she spoke in aloud voice and joyously:

"You have an ocean of various silks left after so many thingswhich we made in company. Let us search among them. Shall we go?They are in your chamber. Come, mamma! I am so impatient to beginthe restoration of this beautiful ruin! You will help me to matchthe silks, will you not? Oh, how many beautiful things you and Ihave made together with these four hands of ours, which werealways in company. "

And they were in company then. She thrust her hand under hermother's arm, and holding the strip of silver and azure stuff sheescorted the very pale woman in black jets through thebrilliantly lighted drawing-room, past the chess-table at whichwere sitting three persons, through the dining-hall, whereservants were hurrying, through her mother's study, in which bothhad passed most hours of their life, till she came to Malvina'sbedroom, where, amid the yellow damask furniture a shaded lampwas burning. In the twinkle of an eye Irene drew the brassdoor-bolt, and with face turned toward her mother, with cheekswhich flushed immediately, she took Malvina's two hands in herown. 

"Enough of these secrets, of things partly said, and of barriersraised between our hearts and lips. "

This hurried whisper burst from her like a current from a coveredvessel filled with heat and opened suddenly. 

"Let us tell each other everything--or no, say no word, I knoweverything and neither will I speak--but let us counsel--let usmeditate together--Oh, mamma!"

Her form, usually erect and distinguished, bent, and trembledlike a reed, and her lips, famous for irony and coldness, scattered a shower of kisses on the hands and face of her mother, whose chalky paleness was covered by a flame of blushes. 

"Ira!" she exclaimed, "forgive. May God forgive me. "

Unable to utter more than these words she dropped on her kneesand touched the yellow cushion of the low sofa with her head. Sheseemed shattered, annihilated. Then Irene grew cold again. Soberthought and strong will shone in, her eyes. She bent over hermother, placed her delicate hand on her shoulder, and beganalmost with the movement of a guardian:

"Mamma, I beg you not to despair, and above all not to tortureyourself with that which you consider a reproach and a sin. Neversay to your children 'forgive, ' for we cannot be your judges--I, least of all. You have ever been kind to us and as loving as anangel; we have lived with you; we love you--I most of all. Remember at all times that a loyal heart is near you and--akindred one--for it is the heart of a daughter. You must standerect, have will, think out something, frame something, havedecision, save yourself. "

Looking into her mother's face with a strange smile, she added:

"And save me, perhaps, for I, too, am a poor, unwise creature; Iknow not myself what to do. "

Malvina raised her head, straightened herself, and rose from herknees slowly. 

"True, " whispered she. "You--you, so long and so earnestly have Iwished to speak--of you--and had not the courage. "

"Well, let us speak now, " said Irene. 

And again putting her hand under her mother's arm, she led her tothe ottoman, which stood in the tempered lamplight. 

"The door is bolted, no one can disturb us; we will have a talk, a long one. Only we must be reasonable, calm. Look at things andourselves clearly; know definitely what we want; try to bring ourplans into action; know how to wish. "

At these last words she imitated the nasal voice of Baron Emil, laughed at it, and dropped down on the carpet before Malvina hadseated herself on the low ottoman. Irene, taking her mother'shands in her own, fixed her eyes on her eyes, and began:

"Mamma, if you wish I shall become very soon the wife of thefamous Mediaevalist, Baron Emil, and we shall all three of us goto America--beyond the seas--"

"Oh, no! no! no!" exclaimed Malvina, who bent toward herdaughter, and put her arms around the young woman with suchterror as if she were shielding her from a falling house. "Notthat! Not that! Something different--entirely different. "

At that moment some impulsive, or impatient, hand shook thedoor-latch. 

"Not permitted!" cried Irene, and she asked:

"Who is there?"

There was no answer, but the latch moved again, though in atimid, and, as it were, imploring manner. 

"You cannot come in, " repeated Irene. 

There was a rustle against the sofa outside, a light and quickstep moved away. 

"Cara!" whispered Malvina. 

"For her as well as for ourselves there is need to end thisposition at the earliest, " said Irene, with a sudden frown. 

It was Cara; she had left the door of her mother's room withdrooping head, with a great frown on her forehead, and no thoughtfor the little dog, tugging at her skirt as usual. Half an hourbefore, when Maryan and Miss Mary had risen from chess, she rose, too, pushed her hand under her brother's arm and said:

"I have something to say to you. "

Her seriousness was so evident that Maryan answered, with asmile:

"If your speech is to be as solemn as your face is we shall havelittle joy. What have you to tell me?"

Without answering she led him through the blue drawing-room tothe next one more faintly lighted. Here she halted, lookedaround, and, seeing only inanimate objects, asked:

"Why have you quarrelled with father?"

This question in her mouth astonished him, and he asked in turn:

"Why do you wish this information? You might dream of the role ofpeacemaker. "

Without a shade of laughter, with forehead somewhat wrinkledbeneath bright curls of hair, she repeated the question:

"Why have you quarrelled with father? Do you not love him? Whycan you not love him? For me, father is an ideal! He is so wise, noble, great. When he was so long away I dreamed about him, wanted his return, imagined how happy we should all be when hecame. But that is not the case in any way. All in the house seemto be at variance, angry, disappointed--I see this well, but Icannot understand why. Why? why is it?"

Maryan fixed his eyes on her attentively and laughed, but hislaugh was not sincere, it was forced. 

"Curiosity, " said he, "is the first step toward hell, and thesurest road to premature age. You will grow old before your time, little one. "

"This is not curiosity!" interrupted Cara. "There is some kind oftrouble here, I know not what it is; but something so unpleasantand--dreadful. Sometimes it seems to me that someone will die, orthat something will vanish, and that, in general, somethingawfully bad will happen to somebody--I--know not what it is, butit is very bad. I know not what it is, but it is something--it issomething--"

Maryan frowned and interrupted her:

"Since you know not what it is, nor to whom it will happen, norhow, what do you ask me for? Am I a master of the cabala, tointerpret childish dreams for you?"

"This is not a dream; it is something of the sort that wanders inthe air, touches, breathes, goes away and comes again, like ahaze--or the wind. You are grown up, and all say that you areclever. I beg you to explain this--I think, too, that, if youwished, you might so arrange matters that all would go better. Itis your duty to do this. Do you not love mamma, father, Ira? Ilove them immensely--I would give up everything for them. I donot understand even how any person could live without lovingsomebody with full heart, and all strength--I could not. But whatuse--I am not grown up, not wise, I cannot even understandanything. With you it is different, but you have quarrelled withfather. You do not even love him, I see that well. For whatreason? Why? My brother, you might, at least, tell me somethingto explain. "

She stopped, and he stared at her, a look of indecision increasedon his face. Something of concern, and a trifle of tendernessgleamed in his eyes. It might have seemed for some seconds thathe would put his arm around her, or stroke her with his palm andsmooth away the wrinkles from her childish forehead. But--"Arcadian" feelings were in the past, so he began to speakcoldly and deliberately:

"My dear, you are torturing your little head for nothing withaffairs of this world; you are not equal to them yet. I cannottell anything to you, or explain anything, for you and I are atthe two opposite poles of thought. You speak of devotion, duty, and love, like a governess, for you have a governess yet. As tomy disagreement with father, you know nothing of what caused it;but, to be a kindly brother, I will answer a few words. Twodeveloped and energetic individualities have met in this case andcome into collision, like two planets. Two egotisms also--do notshow such frightened eyes. Stupid nurses frighten children with abeggar, a gypsy, or an egotist, but mature people know thategotism is a universal right; and, moreover, good business. Be anegotist. Take no trouble about what does not concern your ownself and strive to develop your own individuality. Keep this inview, play joyously with Puffie, and go to sleep early, for longwatching spoils the complexion of young ladies. Begin to thinkto-morrow of the dress which you will wear at that brilliantball--planned by our father to torment mamma--and you will havesuccess. Do not mind those mists, dreams, and other visions whichcome and go. They are conditions of mind which are very muchsubject to fancy, and other painted pots. This is all that I, your great-grandfather, can tell you, or mention as advice. Lookat Ira and imitate her wisdom, which knows how to make sport ofthe world around her. Good-night to you, little one!"

He pressed her hand in such a friendly manner that he hurt it, and then went away, disappearing at the other end of the chamber. 

Cara stood for a time with her eyes fixed on the floor, then sheraised her head and looked around at the void in which silencehad fixed itself. The globe-lamps burning, here and there, at thewalls, filled the drawing-room with a hazy, half-light, in which, here and there, glittered golden reflections, and the features offaces, and landscapes flimmered on pictures. Farther on, from theshady corner of the other drawing-room, slender and swellingvases appeared, partially; portions of white garlands on thewalls; the delicate dimness of dulled colors on Gobelin tapestry. Farther still, in the small warm and bright drawing-room, lightswere burning in the candelabra, and a crown of glitteringcrystals were hanging like icicles, or immense frozen tears. Farthest off, in the dining-room, with its dark walls, gleamed agreat lamp, in its hanging bronze, like a point of light, abovethe table. This point seemed very far from where Cara wasstanding, and in all the space between her and it there was not avoice, not a rustle, nothing living. Only once a waiter, dressedin black, passed on tip-toe through the dining-room, emerged intothe full light of the lamp, and disappeared behind a door. Afterthat there was no voice, no step, no noise--nothing living. Allat once a clock began to strike nine. Its metallic sound inclinedto bass, and was heard clearly in the silence which had settledin the vacant chambers. One, two, three--at the fourth strokeanother clock was heard in a distant study. Its sound was thinnerand more like singing--these two seemed to be a voice and itsecho; the sounds from these resembled a mysterious conversationcarried on by things that were inanimate. 

Cara hurried then, and hastened through the drawing-rooms ontip-toe toward her mother's boudoir. Through her widely openedeyes looked fear, and under bright curls her forehead was thicklywrinkled. 

CHAPTER VIII

Because of his absence of ten days Darvid, on his return from thehunting scenes, which had passed noisily and splendidly at PrinceZeno's, rushed into the whirl of business--of labors and visitswhich even for him, who was so greatly trained, proved to bewearisome and difficult. He drove out; he received for longhours, both alone and with the assistance of others; he wrote, reckoned, counselled, discussed, concluded contracts, with amultitude of men. Sometimes, in the very short intervals betweenoccupations, in his carriage, after a noisy and laborious night, or at the almost sleepless end of it, while putting himself tobed, he thought, that in every case the amusement from which hehad returned a few days before had cost him more than the worthof it. His life was a belt of toil and duties, so closely woventhat every interruption brought to a new point an accumulation ofthese toils and duties that might surpass even his powers. Andwhat had his object been? Why had he gone? Had he found pleasurein that place? What pleasure? Those full-grown, or even old men, who found their delight, or disappointment in this, that they hadhit or had missed a shot; those great lords, spending their timeat a recreation which, by the uproar, the style of conversation, the spectacle of bloodshed, reminded him of the mental andphysical condition of wild men--seemed to him children which weresometimes annoying and sometimes ridiculous. Such frivolousamusement, idle, somewhat savage, somewhat knightly, found noaccess to his brain, which had been occupied so long with theseriousness of dates and figures. He had met there, it is true, though only once, a man in a lyric mood. A youthful person, whowas riding one day at his side, and who afterward, when theyhalted, strove to incline him to enthusiasm because of thesnow-covered field; the fresh breezes blowing over that field;the deep perspective of the forest, etc. That man was lyric. Heconfessed openly that the hunting was to him indifferent; that hetook part in it not for game, but for nature. He loved nature. Yes, yes, Darvid knew that many people loved nature. Art andnature must be powers, since a multitude of men bow down to them. Perhaps he, too, would have done so if the career of his life hadled him into their presence, but the path of his life led him inanother direction, far from nature and art, hence he did not knowthem; he had not had the time. He looked at a field, at snow, ata forest--and he saw a field, snow, a forest--nothing higher, nothing more. He was of those who call a cat a cat, a rogue arogue, and hold every hyperbole, ode, and enthusiasm in silentcontempt. He listened to his lyric companion, at first withcuriosity, investigating in the man a certain kind of peoplelittle known to him. When he had finished he listened onlythrough politeness, and with concealed annoyance. He concealedhis annoyance, and tried openly to pretend that he shared theenthusiasm, the rapture, and the gladness. He was, of course, inan assembly of very wealthy persons, standing very high. Hesailed in a sea of blood purely blue, so he hid away irony, contempt, and yawning, and had on the outside only smoothnessitself, affability, and general pleasantness of manner, speech, and smiles. That was also a labor, rewarded at once with acertain degree of lively enjoyment. In lordly drawing-rooms, himself the equal of the highest, while passing the time in afriendly manner and conversing with princes he was unconscious atfirst that he raised his smooth, lofty forehead and gave himselfout as greater than he was in reality, and inhaled with distendednostrils the odor of that grandeur which surrounded him as wellas that which was his own. But soon this condition yielded tosomething embarrassing, not quite clearly defined, but causingthis, that he did not feel altogether certain of himself and thefitness of his whole self to the surrounding. For though thepoliteness of those about him was unquestioned and mostexquisite, though words of praise in recognition of his servicesand labor struck his hearing, though his strong feet had underthem a foundation carved from gold; he felt strange in thatposition, involved in phenomena which were new to him, andbristling with difficulties. Sometimes the guests mentionedthings of which he was ignorant, they used expressions which werestrange to him, and referred to degrees of relationship, andevents with which he was unacquainted. He began to stand guardover his own words and movements, with a mysterious fear lestsomething of his might come out too emphatic, or high colored forthe background before which he found himself. In spite ofeverything which connected the man with that background, he beganto feel a broad vacuum between him and it himself. 

This timidity, a thing entirely new, entirely unknown to Darvidfrom his earliest years, was an oppression which, during the lastdays of the hunt, fell on him together with weariness, and somethird thing--a feeling of the difference between himself andthose who surrounded him. Nothing could help him: neither theiron labor which they praised audibly, nor the millions piled upby that labor--millions for which they felt unconcealedreverence. Among those men into whose society he had alwaysdesired to enter as an integral part thereof, on that socialheight to which he had been climbing in imagination and witheffort, he felt as if he were in some uneasy chair, put out in acold wind, and deprived of every outlook. He found nothing thereon which to rest his eye, or his thought. Emptiness, emptiness, weariness. A little humiliation which, like a tiny, but venomousworm, was boring into the bottom of his heart. It was notwonderful, therefore, that when he thought of how he had used histime, and of all that he had seen, heard, and passed through, there was on his lips one of those smiles most bristling withpins points, while in his mind he repeated the expression:"Wretchedness!"

He was too wise not to give this name at times to many things ofthe world which he desired and toward which he was struggling. 

After some days of labor, so intense that it astonished those whosaw it, and which weakened those who assisted in it, he receivedat an hour before evening, as customary, in his study, all menwho came either on business, or with visits. He knew noexceptions for anyone, nor indulgence for himself. He receivedall, conversed with all, for it was impossible to foresee what agiven man might contribute, or what he might be good for, if notat the moment, some time, if not much, then a little. But hischeeks seemed thinner than usual, and at moments his speech wasless fluent. That hunting trip, and all which he had experiencedat it, and afterward, days of activity and unparalleled exertion, were reflected on his face in an expression of suffering. Andsometimes even a slight hesitation in speech arose from this, that his mind ran to a subject which tortured him, and raised inhis breast a lump of slimy serpents. Some hours before he hadinquired of his secretary, who, in spite of youth, zeal, and wit, was bending beneath the burden of labor imposed on him, whethereverything was ready for the ball to be given soon, and whetherhe had received directions from the lady of the house during his, Darvid's, recent absence. The secretary showed greatastonishment. How was that? Then the project had not beenabandoned? On the morning after the departure of his principalthe secretary sought to come to an understanding with Pani Darvidon this subject, but was able to see only Panna Irene, whodeclared that he would receive no instructions, and that hisassistance would not be needed. After that there was silence inthe house, undisturbed by preparations of any kind. 

"Then, " said Darvid, "my wife must be out of health. She hasneuralgia frequently. What is to be done? A woman's nerves are aforce majeure. "

But now, while receiving visits and speaking of business, heavoided thinking of the unexpected resistance. How was this!She--the woman for whom the highest favor, the pinnacle ofhappiness had been the possibility of remaining at the head ofhis house, in the brilliancy of wealth and general respect, dared--had the shamelessness to oppose his will! He felt suchcontempt that, in thought, he threw that woman on the ground totrample her; in spite of this, that, almost unconsciously, heascribed the blame not to her, but to Irene. Almost unconsciouslyhe saw the tall young lady; she stood before his eyes, cold anddistinguished; she, who at the foot of the stairway, in the downof her black fur cloak, with an almost hard glitter in her eyes, under the fantastic hat, had said: "That ball will not be given. "

That was Irene. The other woman could not have risen to this act. Did he not know her? She had always been so mild andweak--powerless, pitiable! She could not command such energy! Itwas Irene!

With these thoughts he pressed the hand of the last guest, andsaid to him at the threshold, that there was absolute need forthe commercial company of which they had been talking to gain abroader foundation of activity by obtaining more and surersources of credit. 

"Credit, my dear sir, credit is the first letter in the alphabetof contemporary finance. Send some man to the capital--someman--"

He hesitated here, thinking "It was Irene!" Then he finished:

"Some man with proper authority and weight--best of all thatperson of whom we have been speaking. Such is my advice. "

After the last bow of the guest they closed the door of theanteroom. Darvid turned and saw Irene standing at the roundtable. That day, while passing on the stairs, when she wasreturning from a trip to the city, and he was hastening to thecarriage waiting for him, they had greeted each other hurriedlyand in passing. He had not a moment's time then to talk with her;she, too, was in a hurry, for she ran up the stairs quickly. 

"Bon jour, pere!" said she, inclining her head with swiftmovement. 

"Bon jour, Irene, " answered he, touching his hat. Behind himmoved the secretary, carrying a heavy portfolio of papers; afterher went some merchant's servant with packages. No greeting wasnecessary now. Irene, standing at the table, began to speak atonce:

"I have come, father, to beg you in mamma's name and my own for ahalf-an-hour's conversation, but to-day, now, absolutely. "

Her bodice, which was dark and close fitting, had a veryhigh-standing ruff, which enclosed her slightly elongated andvery pale face, just as the half-open shield of a leaf encloses awhite flower-bud. Her whole person, in that chamber, with itsvery high ceiling and massive furniture, seemed smaller and lesstall than elsewhere. However, the words "now and absolutely" werespoken with such solid emphasis, that Darvid halted in the middleof the room and fixed a sharp glance on her. 

"You have come in your mother's name and your own, " said he. "Whythis solemnity and decision? You wish, of course, to explain thereasons why your mother and you have seen fit to oppose my will. "

"No, father, " answered she, "but I intend to announce to youmamma's will and mine. "

"As to that ball?" asked he, quickly. 

"No, the question is immensely more important than the ball. "

Both were silent for a moment. If the words exchanged had beenless emphatic, and had followed one another less quickly, Darvidand his daughter might, perhaps, have heard, in a corner of theroom, behind a wall of books arranged on highly ornamentedshelves, a slight rustle which lasted a short time. Something hadmoved there, and then stopped moving. 

"It touches an affair of immensely greater importance than theball, " repeated Irene; "namely, my mother's peace, honor, andconscience. "

"What pomposity of expression!" exclaimed Darvid, with a slightsmile. "I observe more and more that exaggeration is a disease inmy family. I should prefer simple speech from you. "

"The question before us is not a simple one, so I use a stylefitted to the subject, " answered Irene, and she sat down in oneof the armchairs, erect, her hands on her knees, motionless, between the wide and heavy arms of the chair. 

"The subject of which I have to speak with you, father, is muchinvolved and delicate. Do you not share my opinion, that one maycommit what is commonly called an offence and still possess anoble heart, and suffer greatly? In common opinion this sufferingis a just punishment, or penance for the offence committed, but Iconsider this opinion as a painted pot, for everything in thisworld is so involved, so vain, and relative. "

She spoke with perfect calmness, but at the last words sheshrugged her shoulders slightly. Darvid looked at her with dazedeyes. 

"How is this?" began he, in a low voice. "You--you--have you cometo talk to me--about this? Do you know? Do you understand? Andhave you come to talk about--this?"

"My father, " answered Irene, "to bring our conversation to anyresult we must first of all push away painted pots from betweenus. "

"What does that mean?" asked Darvid. 

"What does it mean? What are painted pots? They are little dabsof wretched clay, but painted in beautiful colors; they are justwhat naivete, bashfulness, modesty, and darned socks like themwould be to-day in my case. "

She laughed. 

"I have known all that has happened this long time. I was alittle girl, in a corner of a room, dressing a doll, when acertain conversation between you and mamma struck my ears, andhelped me considerably to understand what took place afterward. Because of business and difficulties which swallowed your timeyou were ever absent, father. Oh, I have no thought ofcriticising you, no thought whatever. Here a question of logicpresents itself, simple logic. You were chasing after that whichwas your happiness, the delight of your life, while mamma--poormamma stooped to pick up also for herself a little happiness anddelight. But your happiness and delight were open, brilliant, triumphant, while mamma's were always full of darkness, poison, and shame. "

For the first time in that conversation her voice quivered; and, inclining her face, she brushed away from her dress, with therosy tips of her fingers, some bit of dust that had dropped onit; then again she gazed with a look clear and calm at herfather, who had sat down in front of her. 

"To convince you, father, " continued she, "that our conversationhas a perfectly important and definite meaning I permit myself toopen before you the secret, but for me, the visible springs whichcaused the so-called offence, and present disposition of mamma. "

"It would be better to avoid this and proceed to the pointdirectly, " said Darvid, throwing his eyeglasses on his nose witha nervous movement. 

"No, father, permit me to take a few minutes of time, I beg you. This is necessary. Every man has in himself a soul, so-called, personal to him, unlike others. "

She halted for a moment, shrugged her shoulders:

"For that matter, am I sure of this? The soul may be a paintedpot also. But it is the usual name given to our various feelingsand inclinations. So pour le commodite de la conversation, Ishall use this word. " She smiled and continued: "There arevarious souls, some as hard as steel, others soft as wax, someinaccessible to sentiment, others sentimental. Mamma's soul issoft and sentimental. Tenderness, care, confidence are as needfulto her as air is to breathing. Do I know, for that matter, thevarious ingredients which make up the so-called love, attachment, etc. You, father, have a soul of steel and immensely greatbusiness power--we were children--Cara had barely begun to speakthen. Well, a moment came--do I know when? I do notknow--but--finally that happened which must have happened morethan once to you in your very numerous, remote, and prolongedjourneys. Do I not speak the truth?"

In the high plates of her dark ruff her face was in a blush, butshe smiled a little, and with strangely flashing eyes lookeddirectly into the face of her father. 

"For, " added she, "one would need to have mental rheumatism tobelieve that you loved only mamma all the time, and even that youloved her in general--mamma, of course, did not think that youdid. "

"Irene!" cried Darvid. 

But she did not permit interruption. 

"Allow me, I beg you, to say that I am not criticising. I am notin any sense. There is not a shade of criticism in what I say. Ionly state and expose facts and causes. That is all. This isrequisite. Without this it would be impossible to understandmamma's request and mine which I will tell you quickly. And now Ireturn to the question of the individual soul. That is a thing ofcapital importance. Offences, so-called, rise from so-called meansouls, or from noble ones. Of the first I know little, but if anoffence comes from a noble soul it is to that soul a great andterrible torment--I have looked at such a torment, and whilelooking at it I have been brought to name the so-called love, andthe so-called happiness, painted pots. Idyls! There may be idylssomewhere, but that which I saw--I assure you, father, did notencourage--did not encourage me to look at things from theidyllic angle. "

Darvid rose with an impulsive movement. 

"To the question, Irene, to the question! Say what the request isfor which you have come. And from what does your mother suffer sogreatly? It would be better were you to tell your wish at once, and without these introductions. Do reproaches of consciencetrouble your mother? I have no time for psychological analysis, and should like to finish this conversation more quickly. Well, was it that besides conscience and other things like it--she didnot find in her lover the man whom her sentiment imagined? I amashamed to speak with you of this. Tell quickly what your wishis. "

With a trembling hand he approached the end of his cigarette tothe candle burning on the desk; his face now grown smaller, wascontracted from the wrinkles which covered his forehead, and thecountless quivers which passed across his face. Irene, very palenow, followed her father with her eyes; her lips were almostblue. 

"Yes, father, " answered she, "in mamma's soul that which we callconscience is greatly developed. Moreover, a feeling of shame inpresence of us, and humiliation that everything which she hascomes from you. "

At this moment something rustled again, somewhere in a corner, but no one turned attention to it. 

Darvid, who passed through the room a number of times, hastily, stopped again:

"Speak more quickly, " said he, "I cannot understand what it isthat your mother wishes. I left her in the position of arespected wife, of a mother, and mistress of a house. She issurrounded with luxury, she shines in society, and enjoys life. "

Irene opened her arms with a movement indicating pity:

"This which you consider as the highest favor for mamma is justwhat she does not wish. She does not wish to enjoy the respect ofsociety, which she does not deserve, as she thinks; nor to makeuse of the luxury which comes from you, and which is bound upwith speechless contempt. Mamma desires to leave this house; ingeneral, to abandon society-life, with all its luxury andbrilliancy. I have known for a considerable time of this, andtherefore had the plan of marrying soon and withdrawing from herewith mamma. "

Darvid put an end to his emotion; his daughter's words approachedfacts, and facts demanded cool blood. 

"If you wish to speak of your intention to marry the baron, Imust tell you--"

"You have no need to speak of that, father. I have abandoned thatintention. I had it, but I have dropped it. Another plan entirelydifferent has taken its place. You own a village in a remoteprovince which came to you from your parents. I wish to ask youto give me that village, to endow me with it, but immediately. Isuppose, I know, even, that it was your intention to give me adowry ten times as valuable. Now, I am ready to renouncenine-tenths, orally, in writing, in every form and every mannerindicated by you, but I beg you, as a favor, I beg you earnestly, for this one-tenth, and beg that I may receive it without delay. "

She bent her whole form low, and her eyes, which she raised toher father, were filled with tears; these, however, sherestrained immediately. Darvid answered after a moment ofsilence:

"Though I do not understand this whim of yours, I do not see init anything impossible, or harmful. On the contrary, I shall beglad to do something which pleases you, and to-morrow, if youlike, you shall be the owner of that wretched hole. But of whatuse can it be to you?"

Irene rose, went around the table, and, bending, pressed herfather's hand to her lips; and then she returned to her formerplace:

"I thank you, father, " said she; "you satisfy my most ardentdesire. That 'wretched hole, ' as you call it, is just the placethat mamma desires. We shall go from here, and settle down thereas quickly as possible. "

"What?" cried Darvid, bending forward with astonishment, but soonhe began to speak calmly:

"I come to the conclusion that when talking with my children Ishould not be astonished at anything. I must be ready for anysurprise. "

"That is natural, father, for we hardly know each other, "interrupted Irene. "In reproaches of conscience, " continued she, "and various other feelings of that sort, mamma goes toexaggeration, she goes so far as to desire penance, punishment, voluntarily accepted. If time and circumstances were favorableshe would enter a cloister assuredly, and put on a hair shirt. That is an exaggeration, but what is to be done? Characters arevarious; hers is of that kind. But the desire which mamma has ofwithdrawing from the noise and show of the world, I understandperfectly; for, first of all--"

She made a gesture of contempt with her hand. 

"All the honors, the glitter, the luxury, etc. , are gates 'beforewhich men with spades are standing;' this means that behind themwe find dust, emptiness, nothing. "

"Great God!" exclaimed Darvid. 

"What do you say, father?" inquired she. 

"Your age, the brilliant position in which you have lived sincechildhood--and this disenchantment. "

"Just this brilliant position, father--just because of thisbrilliant position, perhaps. We are not talking of me, however--but because of this, which in me you calldisenchantment, I am able to understand mamma's wish to leavesociety, all the more because, if I were in her position, allhomage, show, luxury, amusements would for me be as impossible asthey are for her. This depends on character. Moreover, mammaremembers that everything which she uses is yours, and the use ofit attended by your contempt, and the evident impossibility ofever coming to any understanding is such a poison--so I beg youto give me Krynichna. I am your daughter, and, as it seems to me, you have no thought of disinheriting me, so if I own Krynichna, mamma will live with me and receive everything from me alone. "

Her voice grew weaker, and her posture less constrained, in herwhole form there was an expression of suffering. Everything whichshe said cost her, in spite of appearances to the contrary, mucheffort and suffering. Darvid was silent a while, then he said:

"It seems to me that I am Ali Baba, listening to the tales ofSheherazade. If I should agree to your plan what would you dothere?"

"I do not know clearly as yet. This is mamma's idea; her wish;she will discover more and tell me. We will examine; we shallsee. Into mamma's plans, besides quiet obscurity, and modesty oflife, labor enters also. "

She spoke in a low, wearied voice:

"An idyl!" laughed Darvid. 

"An idyl, father; I used to laugh at all idyls without knowingthat I had one in myself. It has saved me from many, and, perhaps, dreadful things. Yes, I have an idyl: I love mamma. "

Then her thin lips, famous in society for their precocious, bitter irony, quivered as do those of children when preparing tocry. 

Darvid turned to her quickly, and said with a prolonged hiss:

"Why?"

She raised sad eyes to him, and with a voice in which Malvina'ssweet tones were heard, she answered:

"I am not sure that anyone could tell why he or she loves. Mammahas always been kind--but I do not know--she is very pleasant, and she and I have been together always--I do not know--it maybe, besides, that often I have seen her so unhappy. You see, father, that I am sincere; I answer all your questions as far asI am able. Have regard to mamma's scruples, I beg, and myrequest; do not oppose our plans. "

Darvid stood in the middle of the room, he raised his head, hiseyes had the flash of steel. 

"No, " said he. "My daughter shall not wither away in a remotecorner with my consent, because it pleases her mother to hideher--shame there. "

"Father, " answered Irene, "I must explain that your resistancewill only give a more permanent, and, for you, a moredisagreeable, form to our withdrawal. "

She rose, and again on her face, surrounded by the high ruff, wasan expression of resolve and energy. A moment before she was fullof emotion and pain, now with the need of defence she foundenergy. 

"Do you suppose, father, that you can understand what happened, forgive, to use the general phrase, and restore your esteem andfriendship to mamma?"

With a form as rigid as iron, and with an evil smile on his lips, Darvid answered immediately:

"No. I am very sorry that I cannot play a comedy ofnoble-mindedness, for this is perhaps a popular comedy. But thatof which you speak is forever and altogether impossible. "

Irene moved her head affirmatively. 

"Then mamma and I must withdraw; if not to Krynichna to someremote place abroad--I know four European languages well, I knowhow to paint, and I know a few other things. Mamma possesses areal genius in several rare accomplishments, and you rememberwell her beautiful music. We will give lessons, and do somethingelse--I know not what--we shall find means of existence. But Ibeg you, father, to believe that in no case shall we remain inthis house. "

With pale, almost with blue lips, she laughed and added:

"Either as inhabitants of Krynichna, or making our own living insome distant place--which do you prefer, father? In the lastinstance it depends on you. One of these two things we shall domost certainly; that is, properly speaking, I shall do it; I, whoam mamma's only defence. I became of age some months ago. I havefinished my twenty-first year, and--no one can hinder me fromacting in this way. "

Whoever had seen her at that moment would have believed, perforce, that no man and no thing would have power to hinder herin carrying out her resolve. Omitting differences of age and sex, she seemed the living portrait of her father. The same coldself-confidence as in him; the same clear penetrating glance asof steel; the same enigmatical smile on impressionable and alsocold lips. As if involuntarily, and lowering her voice, she saidin addition:

"It is our duty to put a radical stop to the family idyl out ofregard also to Cara. She is innocent yet--she knows nothing--sheloves all, and not only loves but worships. Life has not touchedher, even with the tip of one of its angel feathers. Just imaginewhat would happen if, into that little volcano of lofty feeling, a spark of this knowledge were to fall. And this may happen anymoment. If we do not change the condition of affairs it willhappen. "

She was silent, and Darvid was silent also. It might seem that herecognized only Irene's last argument as worthy of attention. Thetwo voices had grown silent, one after the other; then, somewherein the corner of the room, was heard a rustle, not so low asbefore, far stronger, a low knocking rather than a rustle, andalmost at the same time a servant in the open door of theantechamber called:

"The horses are ready. "

Irene, who had turned her face toward the rustle, or knocking, thought some of the countless papers in the room had dropped fromthe furniture, or that some book had fallen. Darvid, who also hadheard the knocking, or rustle, forgot it while looking at hiswatch. 

"I shall be late, " said he. "You have told me things over which Imust meditate. I cannot deny that they possess considerableimportance. Hence, I delay, and shall beg you soon to continuethis conversation. Good-night, and perhaps till to-morrow. "

"Let it be only till to-morrow. I beg you, father. Tomorrow. "

Miss Mary was sitting in her pupil's bedroom, a beautiful nestwhich wealth had formed as a symbol of the springtime of life. From the top of the walls to the bottom, cretonne, interchangedwith muslin, formed succeeding folds on which the freshestflowers of spring seemed to have been scattered. The walls, thewindows, the furniture were covered with a shower offorget-me-nots and rosebuds, strewn on grounds of yellow as paleas if sunlight had penetrated them slightly. Groups of greenplants at the windows looked like little groves made ready forthe songs of nightingales; artistic playthings, porcelainfigures, suggested a child amused with dolls yet; but a multitudeof large books in gilt bindings suggested the active andmethodical development of a young mind, which surely had dreamsof Paradise on that lace and satin bed which covered a bedsteadinlaid with mother-of-pearl. On all the furniture: smallarm-chairs, tables, screens, which reminded one ofbutterfly-wings, mother-of-pearl rainbow-tints passed intomilk-white. Spring tones, joyous motives, light and gracefulforms, filled the room of that little daughter of a millionnairewith an atmosphere of childish innocence and tenderness; it waslighted, from floor to ceiling, and from wall to wall, with acheering light, poured from the rosy tulip-shaped shade of agrand lamp. 

In that rosy lamp-light Miss Mary seemed full of care. Under hersmooth hair her forehead was smooth and calm, but in herthoughtful eyes, and in the way that her head rested on her hand, anxiety was evident. Conscientiously devoted to the dutiesundertaken by her, she retained the warmth and purity whichpermeated the house of an Anglican pastor; chance had committedto her care, in a strange atmosphere, a rare spirit, one of thosewhich come to the world in the form of a flame. Even three yearsearlier, Cara had seemed to her, at first glance, one of thosesouls for whom life is love, worship, trust, and--nothing more. No ambitions or imaginings beyond those. All her thoughts andwishes issued from her heart and went back to it. Her innatesensitiveness was inexplicable in its source, just as genius isin other persons. Sensitiveness in her demanded theaccomplishment of her wishes as imperiously as, in organisms ofanother sort, hunger claims satisfaction for the body. She was bynature a flame and a bird. The riddle of her existence wasinvolved in two words: to blaze and to fly. Besides, she hadimpulse and caprice; she loved to twitter, and to laugh quietlyin a corner. From the thoughtfulness into which she droppedoftener and oftener, she woke up as a gladsome and petted child;that room was filled with her quick speech, her thin voice, hergestures, almost theatrical, her laughing, her humming, and attimes all the drawing-rooms were filled with them. 

This day she woke up full of twittering, and before dressingthrew her bare arms around Miss Mary, looking into her eyes, declaiming verses, telling childish dreams. 

"Why are you so delighted?" inquired Miss Mary. "Is it at thecoming ball?"

Cara pouted her scarlet lips contemptuously, and answered:

"The ball! What do I care? I do not want the ball! Mamma and Irado not want it either, so I will go to-day and beg father todefer it. But I am delighted this morning! The sun is sopleasant! Do you see how the rays quiver; how they slip among theleaves, like little snakes, or spring, like golden butterflies?"

With outstretched finger she showed the play of sunrays among theclumps of green at the windows; herself in white muslin whichcovered her slender neck and childish breast, and with nakedarms, she might remind one of a butterfly escaping from thechrysalis of childhood. 

In the evening (of that day) Cara circled about the room; hermouth filled with historical names, and lines of poetry, withwhich she had been occupied all day. Finally, she caught Puffiein her arms, and, courtesying so low before Miss Mary that shetouched the floor, announced that she was going to her father. From time immemorial she had not talked with him a moment. Sometimes he was going out, or had not the time. But to-day shewould watch him, she would wait till all his business wasfinished, all his guests gone; she would seize her father andbring him to her mother's study. Miss Mary would go there;perhaps Maryan would be there too. 

Her idyllic heart, like a bird in a grove, was eternally dreamingof quiet retreats, of confidential talks, of the attachment ofhearts and the pressure of hands. Her picture of the Anglicanrectory taken from Miss Mary's narrative, and situated in a groveof old oaks, smiled at her like a bit of Paradise. "But mamma'sstudy is so quiet, and full of fragrant flowers--"

An hour had passed since she had skipped away with Puffie in herarms, and with the reflection of a bit of Paradise in her eyes. Miss Mary felt alarmed. For some time she had felt continualalarm. She observed carefully the change taking place in Cara'sdisposition, and discovered in it causes for anxiety. But shecould do nothing. While she was friendly to the family to whichfate had brought her, and while she experienced from it kindnessmingled with respect, it was to her a stranger. She observedeverything, and said nothing. She strove, more and more, to beinseparable from Cara, and to turn her attention toward things ofremote interest. That was a splendid mansion, but terrors wereroaming around in its drawing-rooms, among plushes, mirrors, damasks, satins, and gold. 

From the gates of the mansion, the rumble of a carriage wentforth, grew faint in the street, and was lost in the distance. The master of the mansion was in that carriage which sank in theuproar of the city, to return, barely, at daybreak. A quarter ofan hour passed, Cara did not return. Maybe she went to hermother? Another quarter of an hour. Miss Mary rose up, took asmall candlestick in her hand with a candle, which she lighted touse in her wandering through the series of drawing-rooms. Butamong the soft folds of cretonne and muslin the lofty door, ornamented with gilded arabesques and borders, opened slowly, andCara walked into the chamber holding Puffie at her bosom. Herface was so bent that the lower part of it was hidden in thesilky coat of the little animal. Miss Mary, sitting down again, inquired:

"Where were you, Cara, after your father went away? With mamma?"

In answer, a few steps from the door, the sound of a fall washeard. That was Puff, he had dropped from her arms to the floor. She had let him slip down along her dress. Cara had never treatedher favorite with such indifference, or so carelessly. Leaningforward, Miss Mary fixed her eyes on the young girl. Oh, my God!What has happened? Who can tell, but something has happened, thatis certain. Cara's cheeks, recalling usually the leaves of a fullrose, were as white as the soft muslin covering her chamber, andher lips, always scarlet, formed a barely visible line, pale andnarrow. Tall, slender, and erect, without the slightest movementof hand or head, with dry eyes looking somewhere into remoteness, she passed through the room, and with automatic movement droppedinto a low chair near Miss Mary, who touched her hand and feltthe cold of ice in it. 

"What is the matter, my dear? Are you ill?"

Instead of giving an answer Cara rose and went to the cluster ofgreen plants at the window. With her shoulders turned toward MissMary, she seemed to be looking at the plants; but, after a fewminutes, she turned, and making some steps stopped, with her eyesfixed on the floor. 

"Cara, come to me!" cried Miss Mary. 

She went, and sat down at her side. The English girl looked ather sharply, and asked in a low voice:

"Have you met anything disagreeable? Or anyone? Or has anyone--"

She did not finish, for the delicate, pale face turned from herwith quick movement, and said very hurriedly:

"No! no! no!"

Then the slender form of the girl slipped slowly from the chairto the carpet, and her head rested heavily on the knees of hergoverness. But barely had the soft hand of the English girltouched her hair, when Cara rose and went to the other side ofthe room, where the light screen, struck by her skirt, totteredand fell with a clatter. Without noticing the noise Cara turnednow toward the lamp, and with a face which was growing ever palershe sat down opposite Miss Mary and opened one of the books lyingon the table. Her brows were raised, this brought many wrinklesto her forehead; for a time it seemed as though she were reading, then she closed the book with a sudden gesture, stood up again, and went toward the door leading to the drawing-rooms. 

"Are you going to your mamma?"

She made no answer, but sat on a low stool near the door. Puffwent up, and, putting his forepaws on her knees, licked her hand. But that hand, usually so fondling, pushed the little dog faraway with a sudden movement. Miss Mary rose, and was going to thestool, but she had hardly reached the middle of the room whenCara rose again and went to meet her. The English girl seizedboth her hands. 

"My dear, " began the governess, "you frighten me. What hashappened? What is your trouble? You should have confidence inme--I am your friend, and a friend of your family--perhaps, I canexplain, or help you in some way. Has anything happened? Hasthere been an accident? What is it that troubles you?"

The dry, dark eyes of the girl, looking, as it were, from somedistant depth, met the kindly glance of her friend, and thiswhisper came from her lips:

"Nothing! Nothing!"

Then going some steps, she stopped at the table with the lamp onit, and again opened one of the books there. Miss Mary followed, put her arm around Cara, and wished to draw her near, but she, with an alarmed and supple movement, slipped from her embrace, put the book down, and turning, started to go somewhere. MissMary faced toward the door, and said:

"I will go for your mother. "

But that instant she was frightened; for Cara, recovering hervoice at once, screamed:

"No!"

Her eyes grew wild, and she began to tremble. 

There was no doubt: In the row of empty drawing-rooms whichstretched beyond that door, ornamented with arabesques and gildedborders, the girl had seen some horror. But what the horror was, and whence it had crept forth, Miss Mary did not know. She satdown, and pale with fear, placed her helpless hands upon herknees. What could she do in presence of those blue lips, whichwere as silent as if shut by some seal, either sacred orinfernal? What could she do? Cara's father was not at home, andto call her mother, when the very mention of that mother broughta cry of terror from the girl's breast, would have been a uselesscruelty. Her brother? Her elder sister? Miss Mary's hand moved ina manner indicating doubt. It was necessary to wait, to leave hersome time to herself. She might grow calm, overcome her fear, speak. 

Left to herself Cara went to the bed, knelt by it, and buried herface in the coverlet; but a few minutes later she wound her litheform like the twist of a serpent, and turned her face toward theceiling. She remained in this posture rather long, only changing, from time to time, the position of her head, which rested on thecoverlet. 

Miss Mary remembered people seized with violent pains, who, inthe fruitless hope of allaying them, changed positions andpostures continually. She remembered, also, the faintness andweariness which cover the faces of people with pallor and anexpression of unbearable disgust. A certain disgust, repulsiveand unendurable, must be working in that slender breast, fromwhich a low moan came when she turned her head from side to side. 

"Are you ill, dearest Cara; are you in pain?"

Prom the bed, in a scarcely audible whisper, came:

"No. "

She rose, went to Miss Mary, sat on the carpet, put her head onthe English girl's knee, with her face toward the ceiling. Shethrew her hands back on her dishevelled hair, and then let themdrop without control, so that they fell on the carpet as iflifeless. Her dry, inflamed eyes continued to look at theceiling. Miss Mary, bent, and making her words as low andfondling as human words could be, inquired again:

"Has anything happened? Has anything hurt you?"

Changing the position of her head, and shaking it, as if shewished to shake something off, she whispered:

"Nothing. "

And rising, she went again to the end of the room. Her hair, notlong, but thick, like a bundle of silken flax, lay motionless onher narrow shoulders; her pendent hands seemed like two rose-budsfalling from a bush. She stood again for a moment before theclump of green plants, then went around it and hid beyond thethickest palms at the window. Outside the window was the darknessof a winter evening, relieved somewhat by snow which covered thebroad garden. The darkness was spotted by red lamps, whichilluminated the street beyond the garden. Some months before, Cara had opened a window overlooking that same garden; she didthis in the middle of the night to look at the first snow and atthe frost in the moonlight. Snow was lying there now, at theclose of winter, surely the last snow. 

Much time passed. Miss Mary rose, and went to the narrow spacebetween the clump of plants and the window. Cara was standingthere at the very window, looking into the darkness, or at thered spots made by lanterns, placed here and there in it. Thegoverness saw that a change had taken place in her. She was notpale as before; on the contrary, a lively flush had come out onher face. Her features were less rigid; instead of the nauseousdisgust and dull pain, an expression of deep thought had coveredthem. As happened often when Cara was thinking deeply, the pointof her finger was in her mouth. Miss Mary felt relieved. "Cara isno longer pale, " thought she; "she has stopped over something;she stands long in one place; she is recovering her balance; soonshe will be pacified completely, and will tell what hashappened. "

"Do you not wish me to read to you?"

Cara shook her head, and said in a low voice:

"I want to sleep. "

"To sleep! so early? But you are tired, of course. Very well, dear. Lie down and rest. I will call Ludvika to open the bed. Orno--I will do it myself. No one need make a noise here that wouldprevent us from talking. "

With great goodness and kindly grace, while arranging the bedwith a rustle of silk, and the waves of lace going through herfingers, Miss Mary told vivaciously of many things which werenear and confidential, things always affecting Cara, and thoughno answer came to her from beyond the green plants, her voice, which sounded agreeably, scattered the gloom and silence of thechamber. 

Half an hour later the door to the drawing-room was openedpartly, and the voice of Irene said some words in English. MissMary went to the door on tip-toe. 

"Cara is sleeping already, " whispered she; "we ought not to wakeher; she is a little unwell. "

The door was closed slowly and in silence; some minutes later themaid brought a tray in with tea and many dishes. 

Soon after Malvina entered the room. She approached herdaughter's bed quietly, and anxious. 

"What is the matter?" whispered she. "Why did she go to bed soearly?"

Miss Mary gave some pacifying answer. That was caution. She feltalways in that house, and on that day more than ever, the need ofcaution in making observations. Both looked at the girl, who, asthey thought, was sleeping soundly; she breathed slowly andevenly, with a deep flush on her cheeks. 

Malvina bent down and impressed a long kiss on the forehead ofher sleeping daughter. Then Miss Mary noted something of whichshe was not sure: when her mother's lips rested on Cara'sforehead a quiver ran through the girl's body, from head to foot. But Miss Mary was not sure whether Cara really trembled, or itonly seemed so to her. After Malvina's departure she remained atthe bedside, with eyes fixed on the delicate face, which wasgrowing more inflamed with an ever-increasing flush. A number ofdark spots came out on her purple lips, which were parched andhalf open, her small pearl-like teeth gleamed behind them. 

"She is sick, but has fallen asleep!" thought Miss Mary. "Perhapsthat horror, which I thought seized the child in the emptydrawing-rooms, was an invention of her mind? Surely it wasnothing more; she is simply ill; perhaps, not very ill, since shefell asleep so quickly. "

The small night-lamp shone in Cara's room like a blue spark. Inthe adjoining room, beyond the open door, far into the night, rustled book-leaves turned by the English governess. Miss Marywatched long, and stood often in the open door, between her roomand Cara's, inclining forward, looking from a distance at the bedfrom which the regular, unbroken sound of breathing came to her. She is asleep. She moved a number of times and groaned, thenagain she was silent. Puff lay at her feet, like a bundle ofash-colored silk, and snored slightly. The street beyond thegarden grew more and more silent till it was silent altogether. At the windows light began to whiten the shades and to draw asidethe black curtain of darkness which was on the furniture. Thewearied Miss Mary, in a long dressing-gown, ready to spring fromher bed any moment, slept for a short time and then woke with afeeling of great fear. She was roused by a sharp cold by a breathof frosty air coming in through the open door. She sprang up andran, with a cry, to Cara's chamber. There, on the threshold shesaw beyond the spreading palm leaves the great window half open, and a slender, white figure sitting there in the gray dawn. Whenhad she done that? How long had she sat there with her shouldersresting on the window-frame, with her naked feet hanging in theair, with her breast and arms stripped even of muslin? No one wasever to know. 

Miss Mary, while carrying the girl to bed with that strengthwhich only terror can give one, felt in her embrace, limbs asstiff as those of a frozen corpse; but her breast rose and fellwith her breathing which was heavy and audible; her cheeks andforehead were burning. In half a minute the window was closed;Miss Mary, with all the strength of long and supple arms, stroveto warm the breast and shoulders, which were as cold as ice, andthe skin on them stiffened. 

"Oh, child! you unkind! most dear! poor child! Why have you donethis? Is it possible to do such things? Did you know what youwere doing? Was that an unfortunate accident, or did you do itpurposely? Tell, was it done purposely? Tell me! tell!"

Cara for the first time looked straight into Miss Mary's face;she bent her head with a lively movement; her eyes shot forthtriumph; a smile encircled her parched lips. In the glitter ofher eyes, in the smile, in the curve of her neck, for the twinkleof an eye, shone forth once again the wilful, capricious Cara. Next moment her teeth began to chatter and her whole bodytrembled in a feverish chill, so that the silk of the bed rustledloudly. With that rustling was joined a dry, unbroken cough, which shook the fragile and ice-cold breast, the skin of whichwas rough, and had a tanned and withered look. Miss Mary sprangfrom her knees. On her lips were the words:

"Her parents! A doctor!"

The rumbling of a carriage was heard far away on the street, itdrew nearer and nearer, rolled in through the gate of the house, and was silent. Miss Mary, all in white, her hair hanging overher shoulders, hastened to Darvid's study, through drawing-roomsin which, from behind black veils which the pale dawn wasremoving, emerged glass, metal, pictures, mirrors, plush, silk, polished surfaces, gildings, mosaics, marbles, porcelain, in thedull gleam of their colors. 

The dawn was in Darvid's study also; but the servant was lightingthe hanging-lamp over the round table. Darvid, very pale, with anervous movement, tore rather than drew the gloves from hishands. 

"Then did she return from me? Where did she come from? You saythat she was with me, and returned--in that condition? But shewas not here yesterday; I did not see her; she was not here--"

"She was, " answered Miss Mary; "she said that she was going toyou; she did not return for more than an hour. "

"She might have been with her mother?"

"No; I asked her sister about that. She was not with her mother;she was here. "

Darvid was astonished; he thought a while, and called suddenly:

"Ah!"

There was something tragic in the gesture with which he indicatedthe thick case full of books, forming with the two walls a littletriangular space; then in the manner in which he intertwined hisfingers:

"She was there! And--she heard! Ah!"

He stood for a moment as if rooted to the floor; he bit his lip;there were quivers on his cheeks and wrinkles on his forehead;then he approached Miss Mary, and asked in such a low voice thatshe barely heard him:

"Did she do this purposely--purposely? Purposely?"

"With clasped hands she said in a very low voice:

"I cannot hide--maybe something will depend on this--she did itpurposely. "

Then that man, usually calm and regular in all his movements, rushed to the door of the antechamber with the spring of a tiger. 

"Carriage!" cried he. 

"When the most famous doctor in the city came out of the sickgirl's chamber that day for the second time, Darvid met him inthe blue drawing-room, alone. He was as usual self-possessed, andwith a pleasing smile in the presence of that man with a greatname. 

"Is the disease defined?" asked he. 

It was defined, and very serious. Inflammation had seized thegreater part of the lungs, and was working fiercely on anorganism weakened by a previous attack. Besides, some kind ofcomplication had supervened, something coming from the brain, from the nerves, something psychic. 

Darvid mentioned a consultation. 

"We may summon from abroad--from Paris, from Vienna; we havetelegraphs and railroads at our service--as to expense--"concluded he with indifference "--as to expense, I shall notspare it. My whole fortune is at the disposal of--"

He fixed in the eyes of the doctor a look in which was the desirefor a silent understanding. 

"This is no hyperbole, or figure of rhetoric. I am ready tosummon half medical Europe, and spend half my fortune. "

There was a quiver on his temples, around his mouth, and near hiseyes, but he smiled. The doctor smiled also. 

"My dear sir, " said he, "the case is not so peculiar as to needpresentation before the judgment of Europe. But being inEurope--yes. I will serve you at once with the names of myforeign colleagues. But as to colossal money sacrifices, I mustsay that they will not help. Death, my dear sir, is such agiantess, that if she is to come, mountains of gold will not stopher. I will not say that she must come surely in this case. Butif she is to come, half your fortune--that is, goldenmountains--yes, golden mountains will be no hindrance to her. Shewill spring over them and--come. "

After the doctor had gone, Darvid remained alone for a while, and, with his eyes fixed on the floor, he thought:

"A giantess! Golden mountains will not stop her! True, butscience is also a giantess. And, besides, is human, and everyhuman thing travels in golden chariots. But to set one giantessagainst the other, gold and energy are needed. "

For some time the great study was seething with activity, insending letters and telegrams. Darvid was heard commanding andgiving directions in a voice always low, but emphatic. He wasdecisive, cool, and active, as he always was when going to acontest. In the course of a few minutes arriving carriageshalted, one after another, before the gate of the mansion. Out ofthem issued men full of importance, with famous names, verylearned, specialists, old and young, strong in theory andpractice. Some of these men it was almost impossible to see, forthey were reposing in wealth and on laurels, but they had beensnatched from their rest by the rumble of the golden chariotwhich came for them. There were many of these men. The blue roomgrew black from their garments as from a cloud. Darvid pressedtheir hands a little more firmly than he was wont to do; perhapshis side-whiskers dropped a little less symmetrically than usual, along cheeks somewhat paler than usual, but there was no otherchange in the man. And when the cloud of dark garments flowedfrom the blue room to the chamber of his daughter, a spark oftriumph glittered in his eye. Let one giantess fight with theother; we shall see which one wins. The power of science was oneof the very few articles of Darvid's faith. That power had to begreat, since it was indispensable in the conquest of wealth. Hehad tried that power more than once in his mighty struggles forwealth; he would try it now, also. This was only the beginning ofthe battle. Diseases last a series of days, sometimes weeks, butto-morrow, after to-morrow, Europe will begin to ride hither onthe golden chariot. Giantess against giantess! We shall see theirforce. 

Inflammation extending with great rapidity in the weak breast ofthe girl, besides a complication of the brain, not considerable, but giving much cause for concern--the normal condition of themind shaken--that was the case. A long consultation was carriedon in an undertone; some medicines were prescribed, and someadvice given, in the domain of hygiene. Among the carriages whichleft the gate of the mansion, two were empty. The two dignitariesof science, who had remained in his house, Darvid conducted tohis study for black coffee, excellent liquors, and cigars ofuncommon quality. They had to remain some hours, then they wouldbe relieved by others. They opposed this wish at first, for itwas in opposition to their customs, to obligations assumedelsewhere; but Darvid, with his eyes looking very kindly intotheirs, uttered a magic word. It was a figure unheard of--almostfabulous. They hesitated still; resisted; then they came to anunderstanding as to the how-and-when--and remained. Darvid'sforehead smoothed for the moment, all wrinkles vanished from it. His child (in his mind he added), "my little one, " during onehour of the day or night would not be without the good giantess, who would do battle against the wicked one. 

In the city, people said that Darvid, in anxiety for his daughterwould commit some mad folly; but those who had seen him shruggedtheir shoulders. Not at all! There was not a man on earth whocould preserve better, in such straits, cool blood, self-confidence, fluent speech, affability perfect, though cold. Only at times, from the quiver which ran over his face, from thetemporary stare of his eyes, and the slight carelessness indressing his hair, was it possible to divine in him a man playingfor great stakes. Really, in the battle which he had begun andwas fighting, the question was not of Cara alone--it was of herabove all, but not of her alone. At the bottom of his being hefelt himself a player, then, as he had been countless timesbefore in cases wholly different; a player aided by energy, money, and universal reason, which was his own and that bought bymoney. The stakes in this play were not only the life of hischild, but the one faith which he had--his faith in theall-mightiness, and all-effectiveness of energy, sound sense, andmoney. 

At one time and another, either with the doctors, or withoutthem, Darvid entered Cara's chamber; where, in obedience tomedical advice, they had not darkened the great windows throughwhich light was pouring in its golden torrents. This lightpenetrated the yellowish folds of cretonne at the walls, lentapparent life to forget-me-nots and rose-buds scattered overthem, played among the palm leaves, lay on the flowery carpet, struck out golden sparks on the gilding of toys and books, playedwith rainbow gleams on surfaces inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Inthis gleaming light, near the mirror, which was surrounded byporcelain flowers, amid flasks gilded and enamelled, a rosy Cupidwas drawing a bow with a golden arrow, a marble cat lay at thefeet of a statuette, which held a dove rat its bosom; on a smalldesk of lapis-lazuli as blue as the sky, a bronze statuettepersonifying the Dew was inclining gracefully an amphora above anopen book, skeins of various colored silks were hanging at littlelooms. Amid all these tones of spring, joyous themes, light andgraceful forms, the sunlight went to Cara's bed, and, from thewhite cambric on which she was lying, increased the paleness ofher yellow hair. On the pillow with lace it was difficult atfirst to distinguish where the sunrays ended and the maiden'shair began. But, amid the yellow of the rays and the hair, heroval, delicate face in its bright flush seemed a scarlet flower. Her lips, blooming with a bloody purple, her eyes, flashing witha dry fire, were silent. But her breast labored with hoarse, hurried breathing, and a cough shook her body, the slender, fragile form of which was indicated beneath the blue silkcoverlet, like a fine piece of sculpture. 

When Darvid entered the chamber a dark-robed woman drew back fromthe bed of the suffering Cara, without the least rustle, andstood at some distance with a pained, pallid face under smoothlydressed hair of the same hue exactly as that which, indishevelled abundance, lay mingled with pale sunrays on thepillow of the sick girl. 

"How is it with you, little one?" asked Darvid. "Perhaps you feelsomewhat better? Perhaps you would like something?"

For its only answer the face, which was like a scarlet flower, turned toward the wall, covered with forget-me-nots androse-buds. 

"Why not answer, Cara? Perhaps you would like something? Onlysay, only whisper. Say into my ear. I would bring you anything, get it, buy it. Perhaps you would like something? Have something, something to look at. You can have anything--anything, only saywhat it is--whisper in my ear. "

But in vain he bent low, brought his ear to her lips almost, nosound came from them, no whisper, only her face turned away stillmore and her breath became hoarser and heavier. 

How many times did he go there and put to her the question:"Would you like something? Will you tell what?" He thought thatthe young girl, though sick, must remember some wish, some desirewhich, if granted, might give her relief and some comfort. He hadpower to gratify every wish, even the wildest, but had not thepower of drawing from her lips even one word, and that thebriefest. 

Some days passed. In front of the mansion the carriages ofdoctors were arriving and departing continually, meeting on theway a multitude of equipages from which men came out and enteredthe study of the master of the mansion, or only came to theentrance to inscribe their names in a book furnished by the Swissin livery. Once, when coming home, Darvid met on the stairway twomen who spoke a foreign language. He was eloquent, triumphant. These were allies from abroad, coming to strengthen the localforces, which joined them in full array for a consultation. Againa cloud of black garments moved from the blue room to the chamberwhich was full of spring colors, of childhood's playthings, ofmother-of-pearl rainbow gleams. One more mountain of gold and ofintellect set up as a bulwark of defence near the bed of the sickgirl. When the cloud of black garments and serious faces hadvanished, the mother drew near:

"These gentlemen have wearied you. That is nothing. Because theyhave come you will be well. Those are very wise men. The two whohave just come are Germans; throughout the whole world they arefamous. They will cure you to a certainty. But now you mayswallow a little of those excellent sweets which those gentlemenlet us give you. Or a drop of wine. Perhaps a spoonful, onelittle spoonful of bouillon?"

Cara's only answer was to turn on her yellowish bed to the wallsprinkled with spring flowers, her face in scarlet flushes. Malvina, bending low, kissed the little hand, the heat of whichburnt her lips, and which trembled under those lips, like a leafin a blast of wind. 

"Why not answer me, Cara? One word! only one short, little word!Shall I give a drop of wine? Those gentlemen ordered it--will youhave it now? Whisper!"

But in vain did she put her ear almost down to Cara's lips, not asound, not a whisper, she only turned her face away farther, while her breath grew in hoarseness. 

Maryan came in with a great bouquet of flowers in his hand. 

"What, are we sick, little one!" began he. "Well, that is nothingwonderful! King Solomon said that for everyone there must be atime for sickness and a time for dancing. You will be sick alittle while, and then you will dance. But now I have broughtflowers to cheer you. Flowers without odor, for sick girls mightget headache from fragrant ones. These have no fragrance, butthey are very beautiful. You will look most poetic when I scatterthem on the bed before you. They will gladden your sight afterlooking at those dreary pedants who are like a flock of wiseravens. Father has brought in the wisest ravens from all theworld for you; I have gathered throughout this whole city themost beautiful flowers. Mein Lieichen, was willst du mehr?"

While laughing he scattered on the blue coverlet, and on theslender form of the maiden indicated under it, the most beautifulflowers which the best conservatories could yield to him; sheonly looked at her brother with great burning eyes, and when hewent away she began, with a slow and monotonous movement to throwthem from the bed. She did not look at these flowers, but theslender, dry, rosy hand of the girl worked and worked on, pushingfrom the bed the rich twigs and beautiful flowers, which fell, one after another, with a dull rustle on the carpet. She wantednothing. But in the night, when Malvina and Miss Mary thoughtthat she was sleeping, a whisper was heard in the deep stillnesscalling:

"Puffie! Puffie!"

Miss Mary raised the little dog from a neighboring chair and gavehim to her. Cara took him in her burning hands, but soon shepushed him away with the same kind of slow gesture with which shehad thrown down the flowers, turned her face toward the wall, andthen whispered:

"No. "

Next morning the faces of the "wise ravens" were very gloomy. Those who flew in from the neighborhood, and those who came froma distance took on more and more that mysterious solemnity whichreminds one of death-bells. 

But Darvid waited yet; he did not lay down his arms; he did notlose faith in the power of the good giantess. He waited for a newreinforcement. This was the greatest medical name in all Europe, that of a man who had the fame almost of one who worked miracles. Here again was a mountain of gold, and of intellect piled up, thehighest mountain among all of them. In the blue drawing-room a suppressed, many-tongued murmur washeard. Servants bore about food and drink. Darvid gave cigars tohis worthy guests, the most worthy of all, he who had justarrived; listened with close attention to the explanation of hiscolleagues touching the case before which he was to find himself. At last, calm, and perfectly correct, with a pleasant smile onhis lips, a smile almost of triumph, Darvid indicated with agesture full of welcome the door of his daughter's chamber. Themost famous of the famous entered first, and stopped some stepsfrom the threshold; behind him stopped the others. On the parchedlips of the sick girl appeared ruby-like drops of blood; her eyeswere opened very widely; to her forehead, which was damp fromperspiration, some slender locks of pale, yellow hair adhered. Throughout the room sounded in an audible, hoarse whisper:

"Ira! Ira!"

Irene approached quickly, and, bending over, removed, delicately, with a thin handkerchief, the liquid rubies from the lips of hersister. 

"What do you want, little one; what do you wish?"

Cara fixed on her sister eyes in which something uncommon hadbegun to take place, for the dark pupils became larger everymoment, and larger, more prominent, they seemed to grow and toswell, as if concentrating into one point all power of vision, until a glassy film began to come down over them, and at the sametime her lips, sprinkled with blood, moved a number of timeswishing to pronounce something and not being able. At last, fixing on her sister from behind the glassy film the sight of herswollen pupils, Cara, as if in sign that she understood, shookher head, and with a whisper which was heard through the roomwith a note of alarm and complaint, she said:

"Pain-ted pots!"

Then in her breast a great orchestra began to play: hoarse, discordant, wheezing, and her head, grown suddenly heavy, fellinto the pillow deeply. Prom the assembly of men standing thereat the door, the most famous, the small sprightly, iron-grayFrenchman, with a face greatly thoughtful, advanced a few steps, stood at the bedside, and after some minutes, with his handsresting on the laboring bosom, cast into the deep silence whichpossessed the room these words:

"The agony!"

As if in answer to that word, at the very door, behind the cloudof black garments, was heard a loud hand-clap. That was Darvid, who, with a movement most unexpected for him, had in this mannerwrung his hands, intertwining them with a strength which almostbroke his fingers, and then raised them above his head. 

So the giantess had sprung over all the mountains--and had come!

CHAPTER IX

From street to street, and from one alley of the public garden toanother, passed Arthur Kranitski, with the step and the mien of aperson who is strolling through a city without great desire orobject. In his shining hat and well-fitting fur coat, on thecostly collar of which traces of wear were observable, the manseemed notably older and poorer in some sort than he had beenduring a past which was still recent. In his erect form andspringy step one might discover that disagreeable effort withwhich people guard themselves when they fear lest observers maypenetrate their sad secret in some way. But despite every effortKranitski's secret was manifest sometimes in his stoopingshoulders, drooping head, pendant cheeks, and dimmed glances. Allthis was the more evident since Pan Arthur was advancing in thefull gleam of the sun which flooded with light the sidewalks ofthe streets and the alleys of the great public garden. The end ofthe winter had been exceptionally mild and serene, the snow hadalmost melted away, and only, here and there, mingled its dullwhite with the azure of the sky and the golden hue of theatmospheres. While passing multitudes of people, Kranitski raisedhis hand to his hat frequently, and at times, with a smile whichwas winning, nay, almost seductive, he made movements as if toapproach, or even spring forward to those whom he greeted; butthey, with a courteous though prompt inclination, moved past theman swiftly. These persons were stylish young gentlemenconversing with one another vivaciously, or young ladieshastening to some point. They returned bow after bow, but nonetook note of Kranitski's desire to draw near, or, at least, nonehad the wish to observe it. Each man or woman had some person athis side or hers with whom to converse, and was going, or evenhastening, to some place. How recent and intimate had been hisacquaintance with those persons!--lie had known them from earlychildhood. He knew everything touching them: the names andlife-histories of their parents, the nicknames given them in jestor in tenderness, names given at an age when they were barelylisping. He knew every chamber, almost every corner of the housesin which they had been reared. He had raised many of them in hisstrong arms from the floor--he who at that time was the praised, the beloved, the sought for. He who had amused and entertainedthem, was he, indeed, to imagine a day when they would pass himat a distance and indifferently? How could he? He with rosyglasses on his eyes, those eyes famed at that period for beauty, had been given to tenderness and attachments; he had consideredthe feelings and relations of men as eternal. But from variouscauses a multitude of his relations with people had endedalready--and now they were ending to the last one. He had thevivid sensation of hanging in a vacuum, and felt a growing needto grasp after something or someone lest he might tumble into aplace which he knew not, but which he felt must be abyss-like. Atthe beginning of his walk he thought that in that bright hour ofthe day when throngs of gayly-dressed people were covering thesidewalks, and the middle of the street was filled with passingcarriages, some person would stop him, would invite him, wouldattend him somewhere, or take him to some place. What was he todo now? Whither was he to go? Baron Emil, whose mediaeval mansionhad been in recent days almost his one refuge from weariness andlonely tedium, had gone to his estate to make trips in variousdirections and search in village cottages and under their roofsfor remnants of art which were genuine or suitable. He was toreturn soon; but, meanwhile, Kranitski could not sit in the broadchair before Tristan, who was giving obeisance on the wall of thechamber to Isolde, nor sit at the table where, besidesgastronomic tidbits, he found conversation to which he wasaccustomed, nor in presence of the Triumph of Death sweepingthrough the air on bat wings, or experience the tone ofbeyond-the-worldness. With the departure of the baron he lost theonly ground on which he met Maryan--that dear child. The verythought now of Maryan, from whom after so many years of life incommon he was separated, brought tears to Kranitski's eyelids. 

He took a seat on a bench of the garden, and wishing to light acigarette drew the golden case from his pocket. He did not lightthe cigarette, however; for there, beyond the low paling nearwhich he was sitting, passed a splendid carriage drawn by twohorses and bearing servants in livery. In that carriage sat a manof thirty years, at sight of whom Kranitski pushed forward as ifto rush after him, as if to fly like the wind to him. This youngman was the son of Count Alfred, of him whom Kranitski had nursedwith endless devotion during illness under the sky of Italy. Inthose days the young man was a child, and remembered little ofthe hours in which Kranitski had occupied in his family the placeof the best of friends, and somewhat that of the most faithful ofservants. Afterward he forgot those hours completely, and putaway by degrees "that excellent Kranitski, " who was growing old;and though this Kranitski, on a time, had rendered some sort ofservice to the young man's father, he had been rewarded richly byresorting to the house for years, and, very likely, by loans ofmoney given frequently and with no thought of payment. Verywealthy and a frequent traveller, Count Arthur's son had too manyaffairs on his head, and too many in it to cherish any desire ofstuffing it further with old-fashioned trumpery. Kranitski soonobserved this frame of mind in the young son of his former friendand protector, and he had long considered that house as lost andits master as a stranger. This did not sadden him at first overmuch, for he had a port, which he entered with, full sail at alltimes. But now the passing sight of that young man struck hisheart with something which cut and burned at the same instant. Services are forgotten, ties are broken, the past is rejected;oh, the ingratitude of mankind! And still with what delight wouldhe have ridden through the streets of the city on such a springday in that carriage with rubber ties, bearing the persons withinit on yielding cushions, with the soft movement of a cradle. Witha still greater feeling of delight would he have conversed whilegoing with someone who possessed the same habits, tastes, andrelations which he had; with what vivid satisfaction would hehalt before one of the best restaurants of that city to have anexquisite lunch, between walls decorated with taste, and amidsounds of joyfulness. But all those things which on a time wereas cheap as good-morning, are now as remote and unattainable asthe blue sky above him. 

In his closely drawn coat, and bent over so much that hisshoulders took the form of a half-circle; in his hat, frombeneath which black hair was visible and a row of furrows abovehis dark brows, he gazed at the street which stretched alongoutside the paling, and in his fingers, covered with Danishgloves, he twirled the golden toy from habit. The hat shone likesatin above his head, and on tire cigarette-ease, which hetwirled in his fingers, the sun-gleams were crossing one another. 

The street beyond that paling lay before a square which wasrather extensive; this square seemed dominated by two loftybuildings, before the ornamented fronts of which there was agreat movement of people. Through the broad doors of thesebuildings a throng of men went in and came out, equipages stoppedbefore them; on the steps which led up to them halted, advanced, decreased, and again increased a crowd of figures clad in black, noisy, gesticulating, occupied passionately in some work. Nowonder! These were the bank and the exchange, which stood withopposing fronts, and, with their multitude of windows, seemed togaze eye to eye at each other. Kranitski looked neither at thesepiles nor the throng of men circulating about them. He had neverhad anything in common with activity in those buildings. But allat once he bent forward a second time and fixed his eyes on acarriage which passed the paling, or rather he fixed them on theman sitting in it. 

It was Aloysius Darvid who, on that sunny day, was in an opencarriage drawn by a pair of large, costly horses, which, in lightharness without mounting, stepped slowly, with grace andimportance. On the box sat a coachman and footman, in high hatsand immense fur collars; in the carriage, finished in sapphiredamask, a man of not large stature, slender, with pale face, ruddy side-whiskers, and with the glitter of a golden spark inthe glasses which covered his eyes. Slowly, with dignity, thecarriage with muffled sound of rubber-bound wheels halted beforethe bank entrance. The footman sprang from the box, stood at thedoor, and taking a card from his master's hand hurried into thebuilding. Five minutes had not passed when out came two seriouspersons who approached the carriage hastily, and began toconverse with the man sitting in it. Surely officials, evendignitaries of the bank, whom he had summoned by two wordsoutlined on the card. To go to them, to ascend the high steps, hehad not time perhaps, so they ran down those steps to him. Theydid not walk down, they ran, and now, with the most courteoussmiles in the world and with raising of hats above theirimportant heads, these men seemed to counsel with him aboutsomething, to indicate some point, to promise. While he, everunchanged, perfectly polite though cold, with a shade of sarcasmon his lean face, rather listened than spoke, and with a goldenspark in his glasses, against a background of bright sapphiredamask, had the seeming of a demi-god. 

In five minutes' time the conversation was over. Darvid inclinedwith befitting profoundness; the officers bowed much lower theirhats above their heads. With the muffled sound of rubber tires, with the slow and important gait of the splendid horses, thatcarriage moved on, described a large circle and stopped at thelong and broad steps leading up to the edifice opposite. Here thefootman opened the carriage door; Darvid alighted and began toascend the steps where a dense throng of men, dressed in black, opened before him as a wave opens to an oncoming vessel. Thatmust be no common craft; for, along the wave of men, quiverspassed as they pass through one living organism at the touch ofan electric current. The opening throng formed eddies, whispered, was silent; a number of hands were raised toward heads, and hatsor caps hung in the air; a multitude of faces were turned towardthat one face, and fixed their eyes on it. These movements had inthem an expression of timid curiosity, an expression which seemedalmost humble. The most confident stepped forth from the throngwith bared heads, and with steps which were either too slow ortoo hurried, but never such steps as they made habitually. Thesemen approached the newly arrived and spoke to him of something;they were doubtless inquiring, taking counsel, perhapspetitioning; for all those acts were expressed in theirmovements, and on their faces. Thus was formed something likethat retinue of the elite who surround a demi-god, and betweenthe two walls of people, along the splendid steps of the stairwaythey went up with him higher and higher to the entrance of thetemple, and vanished there with him. The heads of the commoncrowd were covered with hats and caps now, but many eyes, unableto gaze on Phaeton himself, turned to his chariot, and were fixedfor a long time yet on its sapphire-colored damask, which waswarmed by the sunrays, and on those two splendid animals which, standing there in trained fixedness, seemed like bronze steeds ofthe sun before the gates of that money mart. 

Kranitski, sitting on the garden bench, had grown rigid in theposture described above--his mouth awry, his eyes gleaming. Sothis is what has happened! In a few weeks after the death of thehapless Cara he is active and triumphant; he hurls his lariat onthe golden calf and captures new millions. A demi-god! A Titan!The king of markets! He sweeps forward in seven-league boots overroads, at the crossing-points of which are Americans withmilliards, they are millionnaires no longer, but masters ofmilliards. He is the man who, as Baron Emil said, knows how towill. 

Still, how small he seemed and devoid of desire at the hour whenhe stood near the corpse of his daughter, joined with the silentsmoke of the censer, which rose like light mist in the air. Howpetty he appeared at that juncture, crushed, as it were, by somegiant hand--not a demi-god in any sense, or a Titan, but ratheran insect, pushing into some narrow cranny to hide from a bird ofprey. Kranitski had seen Darvid then, for, on hearing of themisfortune, no power on earth or in hell could have stopped himfrom running, from flying to the house where it had happened. 

That misfortune had pierced his heart. And straightaway he felt, also, those inward and other pains which for some time hadattacked him without pity and more frequently; but, in spite ofhis pains, he ran on without a thought that he had been forbiddenthat house, or a thought of what might meet him within it. Heentered, and by well-known ways went directly to the chambers ofthe lady. Happen what might, he must see, in such a terriblemoment, that woman, that saint, that mild and noble being. Shewas surrounded by many; there was a throng of people about her, but he did not see who they were, nor did he think what theymight say of him. Before his eyes was a mist which veiled allthings in front of him, save the face of that woman so dreadfullychanged and grown old recently; that woman who no longer had thebright aureole of pale, golden hair above her forehead, but onthat forehead and across the whole width of it was the darkfurrow of a deep wrinkle. Without seeing, or greeting a person, he walked up to her directly, and, dropping on his knees, pressedto his lips the hem of her mourning garment. He did this withoutthe trace of a plan, without forethought; he did it through animpulse which threw him at the feet of the woman. That actioncame from his heart, and from his heart only. For never wasanyone like her, he thought. Many a time he had had fortune withwomen. In life he had been loved, and had loved in variousfashions, but as he had loved her, never had he loved woman. 

He did not remember; he was unconscious of what happened afterthat; but it seemed that Irene seized in her arms the loudlyweeping lady; that Maryan was there also, and many other persons, who, going in and passing out with silent tread and low words, produced a sound something like the rustle of leaves when theyare falling. In some corner of the chamber he sat down, or stoodup, he cannot tell which, he only remembers that he wassurrounded by the odor of alder-blossoms which filled thechamber, till, finally, he felt that it was late, that he had togo out just as had others. He could not be with that belovedbeing in her suffering; of all pains that was the mostunendurable. But life contains sometimes such cruelties. Life attimes is atrocious! He went once again to look at the "littleone, " he saw her, and with her the demi-god, in such a positionthat he thought: Here, too, is a man who is ended! At this pointof meditation Kranitski rested his elbow on the arm of the bench, shaded his eyes with his palm, and placed before his imaginationthat wonderful sight which seemed a fable, a dream to him. 

What luxury, what originality of thought and taste! What amountain of gold was poured out there! The plan and the tastewere seemingly Maryan's. The grand drawing-room had been turnedinto a grotto, which, from floor to ceiling, was covered withsoft folds of white crape and muslin, meeting above in a giganticrosette resembling the mystic four-leafed roses painted on Gothicchurch-windows, save that this one at which the wavy drapery metand hid walls and ceiling was as white and soft as if formed bythe fantastic play of cloud substance. But everything in thatchamber, the walls, the arch, the rosette, seemed made up ofclouds and of snow, on which had fallen an immense rain of whiteflowers, white only. In garlands, woven together, or cast aboutwithout order by the movement of hands, they clung to the wallsand the vault, covered the floor, were scattered over everything, were visible everywhere, and seemed to have fallen out of everyplace. Aside from them and among them, there was nothing butabundance of light; stars, bunches, columns were formed oflights, burning in branch-holders and candlesticks. It is unknownwhere they were invented, so uncommon were these holders andcandlesticks, so fantastic. They were so peculiar in style thatit would seem as if they had been brought from the dream-world ofan excited fancy to the world of existence. There was no color, no tinsel, no emblem of death, nothing in that sea of snowywhiteness save an avalanche of snow-covered flowers and thedazzling gleam of burning tapers, with the odor oflilies-of-the-valley, roses, alder-blossoms, hyacinths, to whichwas added incense of some kind, as peculiar as was everything inthat chamber. This incense, burning it was unknown in what place, sent hither and thither through the air, from time to time, smallgrayish cloudlets of smoke amid the gleam of the lights andtinged by the gold of them. In that chamber were virginity, withan atmosphere of mysticism, inventiveness unwilling to recognizethe impossible--a chapter of magic, a strophe of a poem, and init, as a central point for all else, was the slender form of Caraon a lofty place, fallen asleep calmly, arrayed as in a bridalrobe, with her delicate face, which, in the pale, golden hair, with a shade of whiteness barely discernible, emerged from theflood of snowy crape and flowers. In that flood of snowy white, in that gleaming brilliance of the tapers, in that richness ofintoxicating odors, in that atmosphere of haze moving from theburning censer, Cara was sleeping calmly, with the smooth archesof her dark brows below the Grecian outline of her forehead; onher closed lips was a smile which was almost gladsome. 

It must have been late at night when Kranitski rose from hisknees and found himself alone in that chamber. Outside the wordsand prayers of watchers were heard murmuring beyond the doors andthe walls, but there the sleep of death seemed to reign alone. After a while, however, something rustled near one of the walls. Kranitski looked around and saw a man who seemed at first to bean undefined patch on the snowy background. After a few secondshe recognized Darvid's features in ruddy side-whiskers, but hestrained his eyes rather long inquiring whether he was notmistaken. Neither sorrow nor despair, commonly roused by death inthe living, but something still greater and beyond that wasdepicted in the look and the posture of Darvid. His eyes, usuallyso clear, so positive, so like glittering steel, had in them nowan abyss of thought at the bottom of which terror was secreted, while the form of the man seemed shrunk and crushed down. Neitherirony, nor energy, nor bold certainty of self was in it now. Helooked smaller than usual, and in the manner of bending his headforward there was something of the vanquished. The soft folds atwhich he stood surrounded him in such a way that he seemedflattened and recalled definitely, like an insect in flight whichwas trying to push through a narrow crack to escape beforesomething immense which was swooping down suddenly. He turned hiseyes toward Kranitski, recognized the man, and casting anindifferent glance at him, gazed again in another direction atthe enormous something. He had no feeling of hatred, or contempt, or offence. Kranitski on his part had none of those feelingseither. He thought that various tales and dramas represent mortalenemies who, in moments like that, reach their hands to oneanother and are reconciled. Pathos is not truthful! It has nosufficient reason. What are men's quarrels or agreements inpresence of--this? He looked a little longer at the maidensleeping under the shower of white blossoms, and whispered:"Death! yes, yes! death! eternal sleep!" then, with droopinghead, he went forth from that grotto, which was snow-white andgleaming with lights. He was so broken that he dragged himselfout of it rather than walked. 

Now, on the bench of the garden, Kranitski raised his face fromhis palms and looked at the exchange. The porch with its broadsteps was empty, but Darvid's carriage was there yet, showing aspot of gleaming sapphire in the sunny air, the horses stood intrained fixedness, like statues cast from bronze. Kranitski'slips were awry with distaste. 

With a bitterness to which his mild nature came rarely, hewhispered:

"Labor! iron labor!"

With lips full of gall, not thinking now of straightening hisshoulders or giving his steps an appearance of elasticity, hedragged along from street to street, halting sometimes for amoment before the gates of the grandest houses. Each one of thesereminded him of something, of some brilliant or happy moment, ofsome fragment of the past. This one he had entered while going toone of the smaller or greater "stars of his existence;" out ofthat one he had gone when taking the ailing Count Alfred toItaly; through this one he had hurried daily to do some kindnessfor Prince Zeno; that one brought to him the memory of a certainball, so brilliant that it bordered upon fairy-land. Now allthese gates and those mansions are for him like that hall whichguests have deserted, in which the lights are extinguished, andthrough which a man finds his way with a night-lamp--remembering, as he passes, a spot where had gleamed the naked shoulders of abeauty; or another, where the faces of joyous comrades had smiledat him; a third, where had risen the odor of flowers, or the odorof roast pheasants. 

At last, late in the afternoon, Mother Clemens heard a ring inthe antechamber, and ran along the floor in her clattering oldovershoes, hastening to answer the door-bell. On her broadshoulders was a barred kerchief, in her hand was a needle with athick thread, and above her eyes, now growing dim, a second pairof eyes, which were glass, in spectacles raised to the woman'swrinkled forehead. 

"Hm!" commenced she immediately, "I thought that thou hadstfastened for the day in some pleasant company; but, Arabianadventure! thou hast returned before evening. This is well, forguests have been here, and they will come again shortly. "

"Guests?" inquired Kranitski, and his face cleared somewhat, butbriefly, because Clemens snorted. 

"Yes, one of them was very important. Be pleased with the honor!Berek Shyldman! He said that next week, as God is God, he wouldsell thy furniture. "

Seeing, however, that Kranitski, after he had removed his coat, dragged his feet through the little drawing-room, and that redwrinkles came out above his brows, she grew mild and spoke inbetter humor:

"But thou mayst take delight in two other guests who came. Greatdandies, and of thy company, though young enough to be thy sons. "

"Who were they? who? who? Speak, mother!"

"How can I remember those Arabian names? But they leftcards--wait, I'll bring them this minute--I put them in thekitchen. "

She turned toward the kitchen, but right behind her, steppingalmost on her heels went Kranitski, delighted and impatient, healmost snatched from her hand two visiting cards, on which heread the names: Maryan Darvid and Baron Emil Blauendorf. 

"Ah!" cried he, "those dear children! The baron has returnedthen! And his first thought after returning was of me! What aheart! I go; I run!"

And, indeed, he ran to the door of the antechamber, radiant, rejuvenated, but Mother Clemens stood in his way, squaring outher shoulders in the checkered kerchief. 

"Whither art thou going? What for? Is it to meet them on thesteps, or at the gate? They said that they would come again in anhour. To each other they said that they would go to see theNazarene--"

"What Nazarene?" asked Kranitski, with astonishment. "WhatNazarene?"

"But how should I know what Nazarene? It may be an image of theLord Jesus of Nazareth. They only said that they would go to lookat it, and come back here. "

"Come back, " repeated Kranitski, "that is well. We shall have atalk--it is so long since I have had a talk with anyone--and Ishall see Maryan, the dear, dear boy!"

Kranitski rubbed his hands; he walked with springy step, anderect shoulders, through the little drawing-room, but not evendelight could round his cheeks, which had dropped during recentdays somewhat; neither could it freshen the yellow tint on them. Mother Clemens halted in the middle of the room and followed himwith her two pair of eyes. 

"See, my lords! He is as if born again, as if called back tolife!"

He stopped confused before her. 

"Knowest what? Let mother run for a pate de foie gras, and abottle of liqueur. "

Mother Clemens dropped back to the wall. 

"Jesus of Nazareth! Hast thou gone mad, Tulek? BerekShyldman--thy furniture--"

"What do I care for Berek Shyldman! What do I care forfurniture!" cried Kranitski, "when those noble hearts rememberme--"

"Hearts have no stomachs; there is no need of stuffing somethinginto them the first minute. "

"What does mother know? Mother is an honest woman, but her levelis earth to earth--she only thinks of this cursed money!"

"But is pate de foie gras holy? Arabian adventure!"

Both voices were raised somewhat. Kranitski threw himself on thesofa, pressed his right side with his palm, groaned. 

Then Clemens turned her face toward him; she had grown mild andseemed frightened. 

"Well, has pain caught thee?"

It was clear that he was suffering. An old affliction of theliver, and something of the heart in addition. Mother Clemensapproached the sofa in her clattering overshoes. 

"Well, do not excite thyself. What is to be done? How much moneywill that Arabian pate cost?"

"And the liqueur!" put in Kranitski. 

When he had grown calm he explained that the baron was fond ofliqueur, and that Maryan was wild for pate and black coffee. 

"Let mother prepare black coffee--thou knowest how to do itperfectly. "

"What more!" snorted she. "Perhaps it would be well to take thepanes from the windows, and throw the stove down?"

Kranitski spread out his arms. 

"Why speak of the window-panes and the stove? What meaning canthe stove and the glass have? There is no comparison betweenblack coffee and window-panes, or the stove. Mother irritatesme. "

Again his face changed and he groaned; the old woman surrendered, but the question of money remained. Kranitski took a bill out ofhis pocketbook, held it between two fingers, and thought. This istoo small. That kind of liqueur which the baron drinks is veryexpensive. Vexation was evident on his face. Clemens spoke up:

"Well, stop thinking, for if thou hast not a rouble thou wilt notthink out one in a hundred years. Be calm. Only write all on acard for me; I will go and buy what is needed. "

Kranitski struggled on the sofa. 

"With what money wilt thou buy it, mother?"

But she was already in the doorway of the neighboring room, andgave no answer. 

"Is it with thy own?" cried Kranitski, "surely with thy own! Iknow that mother is spending her capital this good while--"

She came back with the checkered kerchief over her head, withoutspectacles, and ready for the errand. 

"Well, what if I do spend it? Hast thou not Lipovka? Thou hast, and what I lend thou wilt return. Oi, oi! I stand with one footin the grave, and should I fight about a rouble when thou art inneed of it?"

Kranitski raised his hands and his eyes:

"What a heart!" whispered he; "what attachment! No one can equalthe old servants of our ancient families!"

After a few minutes steps were heard in the antechamber of peoplecoming in, and the fresh voice of a man cried:

"May one see the master of this place?"

Kranitski ran to the antechamber. 

"Of course, my dears! You make me happy, altogether happy!"

And indeed he had the face of a man made happy, and also tilledwith emotion; for, taking his place in one of the armchairsopposite Maryan, who sat in another, he listened to the baron'snarrative, which gave details of his recent expedition. BaronEmil was uncommonly vivacious, but at the same time he feigned tobe more nervous and excited than usual. 

He did not sit down for one instant. 

"Merci, merci" said he to the master of the house who indicated achair to him; "I am in such a condition, that really, I cannotsit in one place. Something within me is toiling, and crying, andbiting. I am full of trembling of hopes, and of anger--" Abrick-colored rosy blush appeared on his yellow cheeks; as usual, he spoke through his nose and through his teeth, but more quicklythan common. While walking through the drawing-room he said, thatin smaller and greater country residences which he had visited hehad found a few remnants of former wealth, specimens of art, andof ornamental industry, which were of considerable, and sometimeseven of high, value. A multitude of these rich things had beenacquired by the English, who had circled about through thecountry more than once in pursuit of them; but much remained yet, and the only need was to inquire, seek, examine, and it waspossible to find real treasures, even, often most unexpectedly. He halted before Maryan. 

"I say this because who, for example, could hope or expect tofind in possession of a schoolmaster, a teacher of geography, anabsolute Arcadian, a picture by Steinle hung behind a door, smoked befouled by flies--an undoubted, a genuine Steinle--EdwardSteinle--"

"But is it undoubted?" interrupted Maryan; "once more I turn thyattention to certain traits which seem to speak in favor ofKupelweiser. "

"What, Kupelweiser!" cried the baron, walking still more quicklythrough the drawing-room. "No Kupelweiser, my dear; not a shadowof a Kupelweiser. Kupelweiser, though the teacher of Steinle wasconsiderably inferior to him in drawing--that firmness andelegance of outline, that harmony of composition, that piety, that genuine compunction which is dominant in the faces of thesaints--that is Steinle, the purest Steinle, undoubted Steinle, whose collection of cartoons in Frankfort--"

"Was Steinle, for I do not recollect, pre-Raphaelite?" put inKranitski timidly, somewhat ashamed of his ignorance. 

"Yes, if you like, " answered the baron, "we may reckon among thepre-Raphaelites the German school of Nazarenes. But this schoolis distinct. "

"Then surely you examined this Steinle to-day, my dears, beforeyou came to me?"

"Yes, we heard of it by chance; we went to examine it, andimagine, we found this pearl in the possession of an Arcadian whohas neither a conception, nor the shadow of a conception of theNazarenes, or who Steinle--"

"But perhaps we should pardon him, " laughed Maryan, "for theGermans themselves know almost nothing of Steinle, who fell intodisfavor among his successors. "

"On the contrary!" exclaimed the baron, "I beg pardon, my dear, real judges always value him highly, and he is greatly sought forby museums. His cartoons when placed at the side of Overbeck'sTriumph of Religion in Art lose nothing; on the contrary, thatcompunction distinguishes his figures. "

"But thou canst not compare him with Overbeck!" said Maryan, withindignation. 

"I can, I can! I make him equal to Overbeck; and I consider himsuperior to Fuhrich and Veit--"

"I will give thee Veit, but as to Overbeck, that marvellousmelancholy which fills the eyes of his women--"

"It is earthly, earthly, rather than that perfect expression frombeyond which is dominant in Steinle's figures. In this regardSteinle is the only man whom we may compare with Fra Angelico--"

"I would rather compare him with Lippo-Mani. "

"Perhaps, " said the baron, half agreeing, "as Fuhrich, whenever Ilook at him, reminds me of Buffalmaco. "

"And me, of Piero di Cosimo. "

"No, no, " objected the baron, "Piero di Cosimo in coloring isdifferent from Fuhrich and Buffalmaco. "

"I can compare Buffalmaco, to-day, with Rossetti alone. "

In this manner they conversed some time longer of the Italianpainters of the epoch preceding Raphael, and of their modernfollowers. At times disputing slightly; at times growingenthusiastic in company, till they agreed in one opinion; namely, that the greatest master of painting, whom it was impossible tocompare with anyone among contemporaries, was Dante GabrielRossetti, an Englishman, but that the school of German Nazarenes, to which Overbeck, Steinle, Fuhrich, and others belonged, was, inspite of certain inequalities and weaknesses, altogether pureQuatrocento. 

"Yes, Quatrocento, " finished the baron; "who knows even if theyare not purer, more perfect Quatrocento than Rossetti andMorris. "

Kranitski listened, spoke rarely, while something within himbegan to weep. He, too, loved art, but how far was he now fromits loftiest caprices. How much would he give if those dear boysthere, those noble hearts, would speak of something else to him, of something nearer. After a time he remarked with a smile towhich he brought himself with effort:

"Then you have the first parts of that golden fleece which youare to bear beyond the sea?"

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the baron, "the golden fleece! splendidlysaid! In truth, we shear the sheep, or, if you like, theshepherds, for you cannot imagine what a rheumatism of thought inthis matter prevails throughout the country. No man knows thevalue of what he has; no man knows what he possesses. There is noconception of art; no aesthetic knowledge. In my journey I feltas if wandering through ancient Scythia. All are related to me, or are old neighbors of my parents; they greeted me with openarms. Kisses with saliva, and chops cooked in buckwheat-grits!Their rooms are filled with progeny, who look as though theymight grow up without trousers. The parents we may almost call, now, the shirtless. From this cause comes a genuine fury ofturning all things to money. My proposition brought to their eyestears of gratitude. They saw in me a saviour. Had I wished, Imight have won the glory of a patriot bringing salvation to hiscountrymen. But glory is a painted pot. I am not a man to becovered with labels. I buy cheap to sell dear, that is my game. And, though I told them this, they kissed me. I filled theirmouths, which were suffering from that hunger which goes beforeharvest. They opened old cupboards before me, also storehouses;one man even opened a chapel in which I found church-cloths ofincomparable antiquity. I suspect that one of these is of Flemishmake, and reaches back to Robert the Pious, just such a one did Isee in the museum at Cluny. Finally, a number of images; somegirdles and brocades; some old weapons, which would befit John ofDresden very well; this is my booty. Here we have discovered oneOverbeck and one Steinle; but Maryan, during my absence, found, somewhere, Saxon porcelain, of incredible age, in perfectpreservation. But this is only the beginning. There will be awhole harvest of these things, a whole harvest!"

"A golden fleece!" whispered Kranitski. 

He grew more and more gloomy, and felt in his right side a painwhich was well-nigh unendurable. The tone in which the baron gaveaccount of his journey in regions about his birthplace, rousedalmost instinctive disgust in Kranitski. He looked at Maryan. Washe the same also? After a while he asked:

"Has the American project crystallized thoroughly? Is it settled?Are you going to America surely?"

"It has crystallized this far, " answered Maryan, "that I start nolater than to-morrow. Emil will remain here some weeks yet. I, tobecome acquainted with the people and the country, leave hereto-morrow. "

Kranitski straightened himself and sat there dumb for a time, with fixed look, then he repeated:

"To-morrow?"

"Absolutely, " confirmed Maryan; and, when the baron sat downafter long walking, he rose, and began in turn to walk throughthe drawing-room, declaring that he had come to-day purposely totake farewell of Kranitski. 

"I could not go without taking farewell of my good, old man, "said he. 

It may be that he would not have gone so soon had not certaindetails made his life impossible. One of these details was, thatthe week before his father had withdrawn the allowance paid up tothat time. A certain period had ended just a week earlier, and, through commands from above, the treasury had withheld payment. 

In speaking of this Maryan grew red in the face; the vein in hisforehead swelled like a blue cord; his eyes glittered brightly. He was wounded to his innermost heart by the last conversationwhich he had had with his father. It was brief, but decisive; hehad told it to Kranitski. From the narrative it was possible todivine that Darvid had shown at first an inclination to mildenthe demands on his son, but afterward despotic habits andpractical views had won the victory. He demanded that in one ofthe factories belonging to him, Maryan should begin a course ofself-restraint, obedience, and labor. 

"Our two individualities, " said Maryan, "came into collision, andsprang back in a state of complete inviolability--not the leastdint was made on Mm or on me. Our wills remained unbroken. He, ofcourse, is a man with a mighty will. It seemed at first that thedeath of that poor little Cara crushed him, but he straightenedquickly, and now again he is going through genuine orgies of hisiron labor. I admire that integrity of will in him, and I confessthat it is a power of the highest quality; but I have no thoughtof abdicating my own personality because my father, with all hisundoubted endowments, has a head badly ventilated. It may be thatone of my great-grandfathers said, that if one child gave itselfas food to worms, another should give itself to be crushed by itsfather's chariot. But I am not my own great-grandfather, and Iknow that every yielding of one's self to be tormented by Pavelto amuse Gavel is a painted pot. "

"It is a darned sock!" added the baron. 

Another reason why Maryan had to leave the city without delay wasthe impression produced on him by the death of that poor littlegirl. But he did not admit that so many atavistic instincts wereat work in him. He was a man of the new style, but he experiencednow the spiritual condition of his great-grandfather, whichaffected him so that, like Maeterlinck's Hjalmar, he wished tothrow handfuls of earth at night-owls. The death of that littleone, and all that was happening and going on in the house, hadmade his soul pale from weakness. He understood now Maeterlinck'sexpression, to sink to the very eyelids in sorrow. When thatIntruder, who is ever mowing grass beneath life's windows, camefor that little girl, Maryan had the question in mindcontinually: "Why do the lamps go out?" Now, like Hjalmar in"Princess Malenia, " he feels every moment like exclaiming:Someone is weeping here near us! He had moments in which suchnervous impotence attacked him that he did not feel capable ofstirring a finger, or moving an eyelid. Accompanying thiscondition was a perfect understanding that all sentimentalfamily-tenderness is a painted pot. It is known, of course, thatin the world a multitude of maidens are always dying; that eachlife is a gate before which grave-diggers are waiting; and thatthis does not furnish the slightest reason why those, under whosewindow the Intruder has not begun to mow grass yet, should havepale and sickly souls. 

He must flee from expiring lamps, and night-owls; from nervousimpotence and spleen of spirit; he must rush out for new contactsand horizons; for new spaces, where there are fresh worlds whichare free from the fifty defilements of past centuries. 

He concluded and took a seat. Kranitski had tears in his eyes, and after a rather long silence, he added:

"Thou art going away I see!"

And then, with hesitating voice, he inquired:

"Thou hast said: 'that which is happening and going on in thehouse. ' What is going on there?"

To this the baron answered, with growing blushes:

"How? Do you not know that Pani Darvid and Panna Irene set out ina few days--for a retreat?"

"To Krynichna, " said Maryan, completing the information. "Fatherhas made Irene the owner of Krynichna, and they are going there. "

Kranitski grew very pale, and only after great red spots hadappeared above his eyes did he look at the baron, and begin:

"Then--"

"Then, " added the baron, quickly, "everything is ended betweenPanna Irene and me. I am glad, for how could my bite and her idylagree? That would have been like the odor of ether on a sunny dayin Maeterlinck's hot-houses. Naturally, I represent the ether, and Panna Irene the sunny day. "

The smile with which he said this grew ever more jeering andmalicious. 

"But I know not how they will succeed in the retreat. In spite ofher idyl Panna Irene has much in her, very much of the cry oflife, of that beautiful impulse toward--what Ruysbrook calledlove in action, toward ecstatic impressions, and with such adisposition, as far as my skill extends in this matter, it isdifficult to halt at the mere spectacle of sparrows making loveoutside one's window--"

"A truce to malicious phrases, Emil, " interrupted Maryan. "Thouart not threatened with the fate of Werther because my sister hasbroken with thee--"

"Of course not!" laughed the baron. 

And Maryan added quickly:

"And thou shouldst even offer up to her that painted pot, calledgratitude, because she has not closed to thee the road to somedaughter of a multi-millionnaire Yankee. America possesses men of'iron toil, ' whose daughters are far richer than thedaughters--alas! than the only daughter of my father. "

"Perhaps! perhaps!" agreed the baron; "the daughters of therichest American fathers pay very high prices for Europeantitles. In this way, or another, or both together, I may make acolossal fortune. Yes, wealth is a door before which the heraldsof life have their station--I am not a man pasted over withlabels. I confess that this perspective entices me; what Ipossess now is merely a little crumb for my hunger of life. Ishall leave here greedy for new sensations and new profits--eagerfor love in action and for gain. "

After a moment's silence Kranitski whispered:

"They are going!"

"They are going: Then glancing along the faces of the two youngmen, he added:

"You are going!"

"Yes, " said the baron, "and therefore we make a certainproposition. Perhaps you would take upon yourself to be one ofour agents. "

He presented in detail a plan of the enterprise--to carry outthis there would be agents disposed through the whole country todiscover and purchase. 

"We need aesthetic persons, a company of developed men, and it isdifficult, very difficult to find them. In this country sterilityreigns throughout the whole region of gray matter in thebrain--it is sterility in the great gray substance--if youwish--"

Kranitski was silent. It was not long since he had desired thisposition, perhaps, and something which might attach him to peopleand to life. But now--during this discourse with his twofriends--an increasing disgust had seized hold of him. Thesarcasm of the baron about shirtless parents who kissed him withlips suffering from hunger before harvest pierced his heartcruelly. In his mind hovered the words "departure, death!" andbefore his imagination rose the vision of a flock of birds flyingin every direction. 

To buy cheap to sell dear! That was vile! At the same time hefelt that the pains in his side and his heart had grown keener, and a feeling of faintness possessed him. After a moment'sthought, he said:

"No, my dear friends; it seems that I shall not be able to serveyou. I am sick--I am growing old--besides, my dears, I must tellyou openly--"

He hesitated, and took from the table his gold case, which he hadopened before the guests. He meditated a moment, and then said:

"Your undertaking has sides which wound my sense of proprietysomewhat. This business will always be buying in a temple, evenin temples, I might say, for art is sacred, and so is thefatherland. You are both too clever to require explanation onthis point. The loneliness in which I shall be when you are gonefrightens and pains me--pains me immensely, but I am forced tosay that I shall not be with you in this matter; no, decidedly, Ishall not be of your company. "

By nature Kranitski was averse to disputes, and for variousreasons unused to them, hence he had begun to speak withhesitation and dislike; but afterward he rested his shoulderagainst the arm of the sofa, and with head somewhat raised, twirling the cigarette-case in his hand, he had the look of agreat lord, especially if compared with the baron, who alwaysseemed somewhat like a mosquito preparing to bite. And this timehe began with a sneering smile:

"You are always painted in the color of romantic poetry of sacredmemory. While you were speaking I seemed to be listening to 'apostillion, playing under the windows of incurable patients, 'and--"

But Mary an rose from his armchair, and broke in:

"As for me, I respect individuality; and since that of ourbeloved Pan Arthur is developed in his way, we have no right toinsist on attacking him with ridicule. To be ridiculous provesnothing. 'Thou art ridiculous, ' is no argument. I may beridiculous in the eyes of another man, though right in my own. But a truce to discussion; I remind thee, Emil, of ourporcelain--"

"Yes, yes!" replied the baron, and he rose also. "We must takefarewell of our beloved friend here--"

At that moment, through the open door of the sleeping-room, entered Mother Clemens with a great tray. Since she had gratifiedher favorite she wished to do it in the best manner possible. Onher head was a cap as white as snow; the clattering overshoeswere no longer on her feet; and a checkered kerchief was arrangedneatly, even with elegance, across her bosom. On the tray weresmall glasses, a bottle of liqueur, a pate de foie gras, andthree cups from which rose the excellent odor of coffee. All thisshe placed on a table before the sofa, and left the littledrawing-room with gloomy eye, but firm foot. 

Kranitski sprang up from the sofa. 

"My dearest friends, I beg you--take a glass of liqueur, thatwhich thou lovest, baron--Maryan, a little of the pate de foiegras--"

But they touched their watches simultaneously. 

"No, no!" began the baron, refusing, "we have only three minutesleft. "

"We lunched at Borel's, who, as my father says, gives us Lucullusfeasts. "

Kranitski did not cease to urge them. Certain habits or instinctsof a noble brightened his eyes, and shaped his arms in gesturesof entreaty. But they resisted. In five minutes they must be inthat apparently wretched antiquarian shop, where Maryan haddiscovered the amazing porcelain. The baron, giving his hand toKranitski in parting, said:

"We shall see each other again. You will visit me. I do not leavefor a number of weeks--I doubt if this porcelain comes fromMeissen as Maryan insists. In what year was the factory inMeissen?"

"In 1709, " answered Maryan, and to Kranitski he said:

"Adieu, my good friend, adieu; be well, and write to mesometimes. Thou wilt find the address with Emil. "

He turned to the door; Kranitski held him by the hand, however, and looked into his face with eyes which were mist-covered. 

"Then it has come to this; for long years! It may be forever!"

"Well, well! See, thou art growing tender, " began Maryan, but hestopped, and over his rosy face passed something like a shade offeeling. 

"Well, my old man, embrace me!"

And when Kranitski had held him long in his arms, he said:

"La! La! leave regrets! Some ancient poet has told us that man isa shadow that is dreaming of shadows. We have been dreaming, mygood friend-. The only cure is to jest at every thing, come whatmay!"

With these words, Maryan went to the anteroom and put on hisovercoat; meanwhile, the baron said:

"That cannot have come from Meissen, nor be of the year 1709. That is much more recent. It comes from the Ilmenau factory--"

"How so? Say rather that it comes from Prankenthal?"

The baron, looking around from behind his cane, remarked:

"It is too smooth and shining for such an old date. "

Maryan answered, with his hand on the lock:

"It is polished with agate. "

And he went out. But the baron, after crossing the threshold, began:

"And as to the ruddy-brownish biscuit--"

The door closed; the voices ceased. Kranitski stood some time inthe antechamber, then he turned toward the little drawing-room, and whispered:

"'Polished with agate'--'Biscuit, ' and those are their lastwords!"

Some minutes later, in a Turkish dressing-gown with patchedlining and mended sleeves, Kranitski lay on his long chair, opposite his collection of pipes, and, in deep thought, twirledhis golden cigarette-case. In vain did Mother Clemens urge him toeat a little of that Arabian pate and drink a glass of liqueur;he tried, but could swallow nothing. Sorrow had closed histhroat; he was sunk in reminiscences. He felt with perfecttangibleness that breath of cold air which was blowing aroundhim. In this manner did Time blow on the man--Time, thatmerciless jester, who had always circled about playing variouspranks on him; but Kranitski had never looked into the face ofthat jester, with attention. Occasionally, sorrow and grief hadcome to him in company with the trickster, but they weretransient, not of the kind which go into the depth of the heart, but such as slip along over the surface. He grew gloomy; wassorry for having lost someone, or having missed something, andpassed on with springy, lightly swaying gait, with his longcontinued youth, humming some fashionable ditty; or, with tendersmile on his lips, living easily and joyously in endless pursuitof agreeable trifles. But, now, he has the first look at Time, face to face and near by. The current has borne away; the abysshas swallowed; people, houses, relations, feelings, and nothingcomes back from them but one word in a ceaseless murmur: "Gone!gone! gone!" That which is ended to-day calls to the man's mindall things that have been. That past is to him something in theform of a mighty grave, or rather a catacomb, composed of a hostof graves, through the openings of which are visible the absent;not only those snatched away by death, but also those gonethrough separation, removal, oblivion. Dead were faces once dear;faded were moments once precious; portions of life had droppedinto dust; and Time, standing before the catacomb, his cheeksswollen in jeering, puffs his cold breath of the grave on thatman who is calling up the past. 

Kranitski wrapped himself closely in his dressing-gown; hung hishead so low that the bald spot, whitening on his crown, becamevisible; his lower lip dropped; red furrows came out above hisblack brow. Mother Clemens stood in the kitchen doorway. 

"Wilt thou eat dinner now?" inquired she. 

He made no answer. She withdrew, but returned in half an hourbringing a cup of black coffee. 

"Drink, " said she, "perhaps thou wilt grow cheerful, and I willtell the news from Lipovka. "

She pushed a small table to the long chair, sat down with handson her knees, and with immense attention in the expression of herquick and shining eyes, fell to repeating the substance of aletter just received from her godson, the tenant of Lipovka. Hewrote that he had repaired the dwelling; that he was livinghimself in a building outside; that he had put the place in ordermost neatly, as if for the arrival of the owner. The furniturewas the same as in the time of the former master; though old, itwas sound yet, and beautiful, because repaired and cleaned. Thegarden was larger than of old, for many fruit-trees had beenadded. The bees, brought in recently, were thriving. It was quietthere; calm, green in summer; white in winter; not as in thatcursed city of throngs and shouting--

She laughed. 

"And there is no Berek Shyldman there. "

Then she added:

"Be at rest about debts. Thou wilt sell thy pipes and cupids, andif they do not bring enough, I will give all my own things. Allthat I have I will give, and I will drag thee out of this hell. Oh, Arabian adventure! If this lasts longer, thou wilt lose thelast of thy health; thou wilt go deeper in debt, and die in ahospital. Tulek, dost thou hear what I say? Why not answer?"

And since he made no answer even then, she continued:

"But rememberest thou that Lipovka grove beyond the yard? It isthere yet. Stefan has not cut it down; God forbid! And dost thouremember how beautifully the sun sets behind that grove?"

When the sun had gone down in the world it began to grow dark inKranitski's room. And Mother Clemens continued in the thickeningtwilight:

"And rememberest thou how quiet the evenings are there? Insummer, the nightingales sing; in autumn, the bagpipes play; inwinter, God's winds rush outside the wall and roar; but, inside, it is honest, and quiet, and safe. "

CHAPTER X

What Maryan had told Kranitski about Darvid was true. The man wasengaged in real orgies of labor. His assistants and associateswere bending beneath it, and losing breath; he seemed moreuntiring than ever: Counsels, meetings, accounts, balances, correspondence, discussions with functionaries of the government, of finance, and of industries, banks, bureaus, exchanges, auctions, etc. And in all this appeared order, sequence, punctuality, logic, lending to the course of these giganticinterests the seeming of a machine with multitudes of wheelsmoved by a force elemental, invincible. For even those who hadknown him longest and most intimately, Darvid had become thistime a surprise; he had surpassed himself. The number of men wascontinually increasing who began to look on him as on a rarephenomenon of nature. Whence did the man get such uncommon mentaland physical vigor? From mid-day till hours which were far beyondmidnight he was unceasingly active. When has he time to sleep andtake rest? What is he seeking to reach? What will he reach? Thislast question brought out before the imagination of men certainsummits of financial might, to be reared to such dizzy heightsfor the first time in the history of the country. A giant ofmentality and energy. Some said: He is superhuman. 

But in the immense number of men connected with Darvid by a netof most varied relations there were some to whom he seemed acurious enigma, representing a certain inveterate struggle, themotives of which rested on the mysterious bases of his being. That hurling of himself with greater force than at any timehitherto into the whirl of occupations and business; thatexertion to the remotest limits of the possible, directed towardone object of thought and energy, seemed to penetrating eyes, notmerely a thirst for acquisition and profit, but a desperateconflict with something undiscovered and invisible. At thatmoment of his life it seemed to some that Darvid was like a manrunning straight forward and with all his might, because he feltthat were he to halt, something awful would seize him. Otherssaid, that he called to mind a man into whose ear some buzzinginsect had crept, and who was hiding in a factory filled withuproar which was to drown the unendurable buzzing of the insect. 

The truth was, that Darvid was building at that time, and withiron labor, a wall between himself and the giantess whom, for thefirst time in life, he had seen face to face, and very closely. It was clear enough that he had always known, not merely of herexistence, but of this, that there was no power in the world morefamiliar than that giantess; still, this knowledge of his hadbeen in a comatose condition, something separated altogether fromthe every-day substance of life, and touching which there hadnever been any need of thinking. Someone dies--a certainacquaintance; a comrade in amusement; a famous, or unknown powerin the world--what do people say? A pity that he is gone! or, nohelp for it! Well, what influence can the disappearance of thatman exercise on a given sphere of human action; on the course ofmen's relations and interests? Life, like a rushing river, tearsall living men forward, and behind them, ever more distant, remains that misty region, which is filled with the vanished andforgotten. Who are they who, at any time, think of that mistyregion, and look at the face of the giantess who reigns in it?Priests, perhaps, devotees it may be; a few poets at times; orpeople who sail on a slow and sad stream in life. Darvid hadnever had time for such thoughts. The stream which bore him onwas rushing and roaring, glittering and turbulent. 

But the giantess, because of her power, sprang over all goldenmountains--and came! He was thinking of this at the moment whenKranitski saw him standing at the wall and squeezing into itssnowy drapery, just as a frightened insect might squeeze itselfinto a cranny. That was a cranny in one more of his goldenmountains. In the great city, people had spoken with amazement ofthe cost, well-nigh fabulous, of that last chamber of themillionnaire's little daughter. He had means to do that and muchmore. What are those means to him? He had vanquished enormouslygreat things in life, and he had immense power at that moment. But of what use is that power to him, since something has comewhich he cannot overthrow; something against which he can donothing, and which has struck him doubly--struck his heart withpain, and his head with anxiety? What virtue is there in powerwhich cannot shield a man from suffering? And even suffering isnot important, since man can battle with it; but to shieldagainst annihilation! That, at which he was looking then sonearly, was a sudden and merciless annihilation of life, bloomingin all its charm and with great fullness. Something out of theair, something out of space, and from beyond boundariesattainable by human thought, had rushed in and trampled down thatlife fresh and beautiful. A power invincible--not to be bribed bywealth, persuaded by reason, or vanquished by energy. Amysterious power--the beginning and object of which were unknown, which had flown in on silent wings and swept from the eartheverything that it wished to take; and, against this, there wereno means of resistance, or rescue. It seemed to him that thegloomy rustle of giant wings was filling that snowy chamber ofthe dead from edge to edge; and, for the first time in life, hefelt things beyond mankind and the senses. His breast, which hadbreathed with pride; his head, which held one faith, the might ofreason, and that which reason can accomplish, were struck now byan incomprehensible secret, which roused in him for the firsttime a feeling of his own inconceivable insignificance. He feltas small as an earth-worm must feel when on the grass along whichit is crawling--the shadow of a vulture falls as it sweepsthrough the azure sky--and as the worm hides in the crack of astone, so he sank into the snowy folds of crape and muslin whichveiled the walls of that chamber. He felt as weak as if he werenot a man of strong will and splendid labor, but a little childwhich is unable to push aside with its tiny fingers the terrorwhich is standing out in front of it. With his shoulders and onehalf of his head sunk in the snowy folds, with his glance fixedon the sleeping face of Cara, which was visible among the whiteflowers, he said to her, mentally: "I can do nothing, nothing forthee, little one! I can do much, almost anything; but for thee Ican do nothing!" Slender, grayish bits of smoke passed above hersleeping face, and, impelled by invisible movements of air, stretched in waving threads from her to him. Just at that momenthe saw Kranitski come from an inner apartment of the house andkneel at the steps strewn with flowers. He looked; he recognizedthe man, and felt none of those emotions which his name alone hadroused in him previously. What were human anger, hatred, disagreement in presence of that immense something into whoseface he was gazing at that moment? What could Kranitski, hithertohateful to Darvid, be to him now, when he said to himself: "Iknow not; I understand not; it is impossible to comprehend this;and still it is real; since I--I can do nothing for thee, mylittle daughter. "

But this was not the only discovery which he was to make on thatoccasion. He knew not how many hours he had passed in thatchamber, but he saw the dawn, which drew a blue lining beyond thesnowy folds which covered the windows, and then he saw the sunwhich flooded it with molten gold; he heard clocks striking anumber of times in a chamber; one of these clocks was bass, andannounced the hours slowly somewhere behind him, while anotherbefore him answered in a thinner and more hurried voice, till, all at once, beyond the closed doors, in one of thedrawing-rooms, music was heard. Darvid knew what the meaning ofthat was: another golden mountain which he had reared for the"little one. "

Much gold had been poured out in bringing those voices, thechorus of which raised a hymn of prayer and sorrow above his deaddaughter. But previously the door was opened, and the whitechamber was half filled with the highest of the most brilliantsociety in that city, showing signs of profound respect andsympathy. Prince Zeno escorted Malvina Darvid, who was all intears and black crape. Maryan brought in the princess. Ireneentered, leaning on the arm of a young prince, celebrated forbeauty; next came stars of these three powers: birth, money, andreputation. They were not many, since summits are always few innumber; slight sounds were heard of bringing, giving, and movingchairs; there were whispers and the rustle of silk garments. 

Black silks, laces, and crape; the black dress of men mixed withglittering white; hands folded sadly on knees, or crossed onbreasts, with seriousness; faces sunk in thought--solemnstillness. Meanwhile, out of silence in the adjoining chamber, tothe accompaniment of instrumental music, rose a grand funeralhymn, given by a chorus of the most famous artists in the city. The solemnity of the mourning, with its character of high lifeand unusualness, roused admiration for the man who had given suchmagnificent homage to his departed daughter. From out themountain of gold gushed a fountain of enchanting music, on whichthat child sailed away beyond the boundaries of earthlyexistence. 

Darvid did not greet those who entered; and, for the first timein life, perhaps, failed to meet the demands of society; theyalso, respecting a frame of mind which they divined in him, troubled the man in no way. He remained resting against the wall, and, from a distance, resembled a silhouette outlined on itdarkly, as on a background. He looked on the brilliant assembly, from which he was separated by half the chamber, and felt that hewas divided from those people by a space as great as if they wereat one end of the world and he at the other end. Those shadowsthere whose names he knew, but who were nothing to him, and henothing to them. They might exist, or not; that was all one toDarvid. Why had they come? Why were they there? Never mind, heknew only this, that they did not exist for him, as he did notfor them. He was struck by the feeling of an immense vacuum, which divided him from men. This vacuum was something like aspace which the eye could not take in, a space with two edges, onone of which he was found, and they on the other. They were bythemselves, he was by himself. 

The singing of the chorus rose in power, in thunders, then becamelike nightingale voices heard in space, with notes clear andresonant. Invisible movements of air passed along the crapes, andthe immense number of tapers, causing the flames on them toquiver. 

Darvid had not paid attention to music; he had never had time tolearn and to love it; but he felt that those tones were passinginto his vitals, moving the secret strata of his being, andbringing them into movements unknown to him till that moment. Helooked at Cara's face, rising up among the white blossoms, and hethought, or rather felt that, while those others seemed removedby boundless space, she alone was very near to him. "Mine!" hewhispered. She alone. He did not know precisely how that couldhappen, but mentally he placed that little head with golden hairupon his shoulders, and said to it:

"Let us flee, little one! Thou didst ask me once what thosepeople were to me. Now I will tell thee that they are nothing. Ido not need them; they are strangers to me; with me they have norelations whatever; thou alone art needful to me; thou alone, such a sunray as I once saw on a journey and forgot, bright andwarm. Thou alone art mine! Let us go; let us flee together fromall and from everyone, for everything and all people are nothingto you and me; they are strange, and distant. "

Here he remembered that never and nowhere would he be able to gowith her, or to flee with her. He was joint possessor of a numberof railroads; he had the power to employ for himself alone anumber of trains passing over those roads; in the East, on agigantic river, his own vessels were sailing, in clouds of steam;in one capital and another, and in this great city, swarms ofpeople inhabited his houses--still he could not take thatsleeping girl by land or by water, to any city, or to any house. To his eyes, which were raised toward her, a biting moisturebegan to come, and gathered into drops, a number of which floweddown his cheeks, and were shaken in every direction by quiveringsof the skin. 

But at that moment appeared on his lips the smile, which, aspeople said, was bristling with pin-points. 

"What is this? Is it exaltation?"

He discovered exaltation in himself. A few days before, nay, downto that very night, he would have laughed at the supposition thatin him it could darken judgment and clear vision. He thought, however, that a man is at times to himself the most marvellous ofall surprises. Under various influences forces spring up in him, the presence of which he is farthest from suspecting. Darviddiscovered, now in himself, the thing most unexpected:exaltation. The habit of a life-time; that which he had alwaysconsidered as an unshaken conviction, rose now with loud laughterat itself. Will he begin now as a poet to write a threnody overhis dead daughter, or like a monk yield himself to thoughts aboutdeath? Misery! Earlier, that word had occurred more than once tohim, but only now does it career through his head freely. Still, he will not let exaltation master him. He must stand erect andlook at things soberly. 

He straightened himself; removed his shoulders from the wall;calmed his face and glance; by strength of will brought agreeting smile to his lips; and moved toward his guests. Themoment the hymn stopped he gave his hand to those present, invery polite welcome, and thanked them with a few, but pleasantphrases. This was the beginning of one of those herculeanstruggles, the like of which he had fought many times in thepast. This, in its farther course, had an orgie of labor, whichhe continued for a number of weeks, and which roused admiration, or curiosity, in every on-looker. 

One day, between his return from the city and the hour ofreception, he was standing in the blue drawing-room at thewindow, thinking: What that peculiar movement was which onreturning from the city he noted while walking up the stairway. Porters were bearing out articles of some sort, which he did notexamine, but which seemed to him pictures, and other things also. Was Maryan leaving the house? Perhaps. It was impossible toforesee what that self-sufficient and stubborn youth was capableof doing. But whatever happened he would not yield, and he wouldpermit no longer that vain method of life, with its mad excesses, excesses which are costly. But in those recent hours everything, not excepting Maryan, had concerned him considerably less thanbefore. Why was this? He did not answer that question, for heheard a noise of steps, and a whisper:

"Aloysius!"

He looked around. It was Malvina greatly changed. Beneath herhair, dressed with stern simplicity, her forehead was furrowedwith a dark, deep wrinkle; the corners of her pale mouth weredrooping; on the back of her head a heavy roll of hair, coiledcarelessly, dropped to her dress of black material, which wasalmost like the robe of a religious. She stood in the descendingdarkness, some steps from him. She had pronounced his name, butwas unable to go further. Her white hand, resting on a smalltable, trembled; her head was inclined, and she raised to himeyes which were dim but had a painfully timid and anxiousexpression. They looked at each other for a moment, and then heinquired:

"In what can I serve?"

The question was polite and formal. After a moment of hesitation, or of collecting her strength, she began:

"Irene and I are to leave here in a few days. It is impossiblefor me to do this without speaking to thee, Aloysius. I havewaited for a convenient moment, and seeing thee here, I havecome. "

She was silent again. She breathed quickly, and was excited. Standing toward her in profile, the definite and sharp outline ofhis face was fixed on the background of the window, beyond whichwas darkness; he inquired:

"What is the question?"

She answered in a whisper:

"Be patient--this is hard for me--"

And as if fearing to exhaust that patience for which she wasbegging, the woman began hurriedly, and therefore without order, to say:

"A common misfortune has struck us--thou hast been, Aloysius, sokind, so immensely loving to our poor Cara--when I go from herewith, thou wilt be so much alone--Maryan has some project oftravel--so perhaps--if it were possible--if thou couldst forgetthe past--I do not know even--forgive--if thou shouldst wish, Iand Irene would remain--"

While speaking she gained some courage; some internal motive wasto be felt in her, which forced her to speak. 

"I will not try to justify myself before thee, Aloysius, nor todeny that I am guilty--I will say only this, that I, too, wasunhappy, and that my fault has caused me dreadful suffering. Iwished to say to thee, Aloysius, that, perhaps, even on thy partalso, for thou didst not know me--that is, thou didst know myface, my eyes, my hair, the sound of my voice, and they pleasedthee, hence thou didst make me thy wife, but thou didst not knowmy soul, and didst not wish to be its confidant, or its defender. This soul was not devoid of good desires; not without some smallbeginning of heartfelt happiness--though it was the unfortunatesoul of a woman attacked by wealth and idleness. But thou, Aloysius, didst make a rich woman of a girl who, though poor anda toiler, held her head high--thou didst make her a rich andunoccupied woman, who--was left to herself at all times. Still, it was thy wish and demand that I should represent thy name insociety with the utmost effect; thy name; thy firm, as thou didstcall it. "

She was silent, for her eyes met his smile which was bristlingwith pin-points. 

"It seems to me, " said he, "that in this tragic piece which itpleases thee to play, the role of villain will fall to me. "

"Oh, no!" cried she, clasping her hands. "Oh, no! I did not wishto complain of thee in any way, or to make reproaches--I have notthe right--but--I think that since all of us in this world areguilty in some way, and life is so sad, and all is so--poor, itwould perhaps be better to forgive each other--to yield, torenounce. This is what I think, and though my pride is woundedthis long time because all that I must use is thine, I yield, andI will use it, though my only wish is to go from here, towithdraw from the world, to vanish forever in some lonelycorner--"

Her voice quivered, shaken by sobbing, but she restrained herselfand finished:

"I will renounce this desire, and remain, if--only thou wish--ifonly thou wilt not despise me--"

With his profile outlined more and more sharply on thewindow-pane, which grew darker from the gloom, he answered, aftera moment of silence:

"I have not the strength for it. I am very sorry; but in me isnot stuff to make the hero of a Christian romance. Thou hastperfect freedom of movement; Krynichna belongs to thy daughter. Thou mayst vanish with her in that 'lonely corner, ' in which Icannot wish pleasant lives to you, or remain and live here ashitherto, which I could understand better; but in no case--"

He stopped suddenly, and was silent. 

While speaking with that woman he had felt beneath his throat acoil of snakes stifling him, but in his brain certain memorieswere sounding, as it were voices, the echo of something distant. This echo issued from that woman's features, changed and faded, though the same in which on a time he had fixed his eyes withrapture, from the sound of her voice, which, at all times, hadpossessed for him a charm beyond description. His head, as ifpressed by something above him and invisible, dropped with analmost indiscernible movement. Shall he forgive? And what wouldthe result be? An idyl? Harmony? A return to family happiness?Folly!

That can never be. Only one thing in this world is undoubted andindestructible: a fact. A fact has taken place, and there is nopower in existence to cause that fact not to be. All views exceptthis are exaltation! After a moment of silence he finished coldlyand with deliberation:

"In no case can my feelings, or our relations be subject tochange. "

She rested her hand against the table more firmly, and bent herhead lower--through that head were still wandering certainthoughts of a return to pure womanly honor through expiation, through yielding obediently to the will of the offended. 

Then she began in a very low voice:

"Can I aid thee in any way?"

After a moment of silence he answered:

"No. "

"Can I be of use to thee in anything?"

He was silent a little longer, and said:

"No, " a second time. 

The profile which had been turned to her was looking now throughthe window-pane to a ruddy cloud, which was moving on in darknessabove the roof opposite, that cloud reminded him of something. She looked at him, and, after a moment, added:

"Our daughter will write to thee, Aloysius. "

He interrupted her, hurriedly:

"Thy daughter!"

She began in astonishment:

"Irene--"

He knew now that that ruddy cloud moving over the darkening skyreminded him of Cara. He turned his face toward the face of thewoman standing there. 

"Irene is thy daughter, " said he--"for what meaning haveblood-bonds when there are no others? I had a child who was myown--"

At that moment desire for revenge boiled up in him; the desire tocrush, so he finished:

"And I lost her--through thee!"

"Through me?"

Her questioning cry was full of amazement. 

"Thou knowest of nothing then? They have hidden it from thee? Aproper regard for the delicate nerves of a woman! But my rudenerves of a man feel the need of sharing this knowledge with thynerves. "

Slowly and emphatically he uttered his words; words which, frommoment to moment, were hissed through his pallid lips, and thushe concluded:

"Once thy daughter had an interesting conversation with me; avery interesting conversation about--everything which took placein our family idyl. The little girl, hidden behind somefurniture, heard the conversation, and became mentallydisordered--oh! temporarily, of course, and this would havepassed, but under its influence she exposed herself to the coldnight air so as to die. Inflammation of the lungs was complicatedby mental disorder. Her death--was suicide. "

The last words went out of his straitened throat in a suppressedwhisper, still they were so definite as to be heard in every partof the great chamber. They were deadened, however, by theoverpowering shriek of the woman and the noise made as her bodyfell to the floor. Pani Darvid's knees bent under her, anddropping, with her face in her hands, her head struck the cornerof the table near which she had been standing. At that momentIrene shot into the chamber; like a skylark, flying forward todefend its little ones, she ran to her mother, and surroundingher bent form with both arms, she raised to her father a facecovered with a flood of tears. 

"A needless cruelty, father, " cried she. "Ah, how I hid this fromher; how I tried to hide it! This is a needless cruelty! Ithought that a man as wise as thou would do nothing so uncalledfor. But thou hast committed a vileness!"

Darvid made an abrupt movement, but restrained himself, and withhis face toward the window he heard the retreating footsteps ofthe two women. There was a second of time during which he turnedhis head, and his lips moved as if some word, a name was toescape from him. At that moment the two women, holding to eachother, moved slowly through the next drawing-room, advanced inthe increasing darkness, and vanished. He uttered no word. Whatwas his feeling when she shrieked and struck her head against theedge of the table? Was it pity? Perhaps. Was it a quiver ofsorrow for that past which had left him forever, and for thatdaughter who went out with the word "vileness" hanging on herlips? Perhaps. But he said nothing; he uttered no name. Heremained alone. It was silent around him and empty. Emptinessoccupied that part of space beyond the window, for the rosy cloudwhich had passed there a while before had vanished. The figure ofDarvid standing at the window became darker in that gloom, which, growing denser, dimmed and then concealed the white, the blue, and the gilding of the great drawing-room. By degrees the linesof his face became invisible; his trembling hands and the quiverof the skin on his cheeks were no longer to be distinguished, andDarvid appeared on the gray background of the window as a narrowand perfectly black line. He did not go away, for he was rivetedthere, fixed in thought, filled with amazement. In this way, inthis manner then, all things on earth are ended. Those invisiblegiants, Death, Insanity, Anguish, Rage, go about the worldtrampling, crushing, rending, and no man has power to arrestthem! He had never thought about those giants. How could he? Washe a philosopher? He had not had time to think. Now he wasthinking, and at the bottom of his stony meditation he beholds apale, dreadful visage. Something which recalls a Medusa-head, which he had seen some time in a picture. It has struggled out ofraging waves, and is resting on them face upward; its hair istorn; its gaze has endless depth; and on its blue lips is ajeering smile. What is it jeering at? Perhaps at the grandeur ofthe man who appears as a narrow line on the gray background ofthat window, black, and alone as he is, in the gathering gloomand the silence?

Now something soft and timid touches his feet, and he sees alittle dark point moving. He stoops and calls:

"Puffie!"

At the floor was heard thin barking. Puffie had always barkedthat way to call the attention of his mistress. 

Darvid bent low with his hand on the silky coat, and repeated:

"Puffie!"

Then he straightened himself, and, leaving the window, calledseveral times in succession:

"Puffie! Puffie!"

The black line moved on, in the gray darkness, through twodrawing-rooms, and behind it, on the floor, rolled the dark smallball-like object, till a space of bright light gleamed beforethem. This was the widely open door of his clearly lighted study. 

In the door the footman pronounced loudly a name, at the sound ofwhich Darvid's step quickened. At last the man had returned--theenvoy, the agent, the hound had come hack! Beyond doubt he bringsfavoring news, otherwise he would have no cause to come. Hence, that colossal business; that immense arena of toil and struggle, through which an enormous vein of gold runs, may belong toDarvid. How timely this is! The business will freshen him; snatchhim out of the evil dreams into which he has fallen for some timepast. Indeed, all these exaltations, all these elements offeeling, which have risen in him with such power, are anunwholesome and nervous dream, out of which he must shake himselfand return to clear, sober, sound reality. 

CHAPTER XI

A rather long series of days had passed when Darvid entered hisclear, brightly lighted study, after winning one of the verygreatest triumphs of his life. In the antechamber he had throwninto the hands of a footman, not his fur, but a somewhat lightovercoat; for that day, which for him had been lucky, wassucceeded by a warm, spring evening. Whoever might have seen himwhen he was leaving the lofty threshold of the highest dignitaryin that city must have said to himself: "Happy man!" Though hehad grown evidently thin during recent days; gladness and pridewere beaming from his smile; from his eyes; from his sereneforehead. He possessed now that for which he had striven long invain: he held in his hand the colossal enterprise; before him wasa broad arena for iron toil and a great vein, of gold. It istrue, that while making ready for that moment of triumph, he hadspent days and nights like a Benedictine over piles of books anddocuments, calculating, combining, covering many folios of paperwith arguments and figures. He had toiled immensely, thinking ofnothing save the toil; and now, when he stood at his object as aconqueror, all people said: he is happy! He had received amultitude of congratulations already; in the eyes of men he hadread much admiration. He had just returned from a meeting where, by accurate and fluent speech, he had convinced and won over anumerous assembly of men of uncommon keenness and significance. Thus had he passed the day; now, in the middle of the evening, hereturned to his house; and when he had given the servant inattendance the brief command: "Receive no one!" he asked:

"Where is the little dog?"

After that he dropped into a deep armchair near the round table, and had the face, for a while, of a man who is waking from sleep. For a number of days he had been so buried in thought over thisweighty enterprise, and that day from early morning he had beenso absorbed by the feeling of that victory which he had won, thathe had had no time to think of any other thing; now, after a longtime, in the first moment of inactivity which had fallen to him, he felt as if waking from sleep, and he was brought to thinkingby the question:

"Well? What is it for?"

Just this question was to him at that moment reality, while everyother thing was accomplished by the power of habit. He hadtoiled, calculated, triumphed, just as a round body rolls over aninclined plane by the force of acquired motion. Under thissurface-life, which had been the one which he had led so longexclusively, was now another one which seized a continuallyincreasing area; this new life, a mystery to every other man, hadbecome for him more tangible than the entire visible universe. Out of it was growing an irresistible, importunate riddle, enclosed in the brief words: What for?

These two brief words kept returning to his mind during everymoment of rest, so that hours of noise and movement seemed to hima dream, and only those two words--unceasingly recurrent--the onetrue reality over which there was reason to be anxious. 

Why had he taken on his head and hands this new burden of toil, which was greater than all the others? Why, in general, thisclimbing a sky-touching ladder with exertion of all his strengthof nerve and brain? To what kind of heaven could he climb uponthat ladder? New profits, ever-increasing wealth? But he hadceased to desire these! Although that seemed marvellous to theman himself, he had ceased really. Why? Did he own little? He wasthe possessor of enormously much. He had never been of those whomake a golden chariot so as to sit in it with Bacchantes and withBacchus. But pride? He laughed. Yes, pride, but that was beforehe had known, intimately, those giants who sit in various cornersof the earth. He knows them now; he knows what they can do; andhe knows his own power. Why toil? What for? But his worth; thatworth which people esteem so immensely that they almost castthemselves at his feet, or do they cast themselves before hisgolden chariot? For, if that chariot were to shoot away fromunder him, would he retain the title of modern Cid, Titan, superhuman? It was wonderful with what clearness he saw thenMaryan, sitting in that chair, and how distinctly he heard hisvoice inquiring: "What is the object of your toil, father? Theobject; the object? That decides everything. What was the object?Of course, not this world's salvation!" He laughed again. Whatcause was there for long thought here! His object had been to winnew profits continually; to gain ever-increasing wealth; and now, since he had ceased to desire these, the question was--what for?But the genius of that Maryan with his questions! He had gonedown so deeply into his father's being that those questionsremained there and continued their inquisitorial labor. Abeautiful and genial fellow! A young prince; almost a sage. Butwhat does that signify if--he lacks something? What is it that helacks, and so lacks that he is as if he had nothing? What is itthat he lacks?

With a slow movement, in which weariness was evident, Darvidturned his head toward the desk, which was lighted abundantlywith tapers burning on lofty candlesticks. What did thosecandlesticks bring to his mind? Ah, yes, he remembers! On a timehe gave one of them, in the inner drawing-room, to Cara, so thatthe candle burning in it might light the way to her. He remembershow her slender arm bent beneath its weight when her small handtook it, and how beautifully the flame of the candle wasreflected in the dark pupils gazing at him with such--with suchwhat? With such exaltation! But how wonderful, how intense washis happiness when that child lived and loved him as she did!That was his only happiness! Then, holding the light in the heavycandlestick straight on before her rosy face, she went on intothe darkness. 

Again he looked around, not with a wearied movement as before, but abruptly. He looked around at the door beyond which thickdarkness was hiding, impenetrably, a series of drawing-rooms. This darkness was like a black wall outside the door. AlongDarvid's shoulders ran a movement of the skin, the same as a manfeels when something heavy from behind is placed upon hisshoulders, or rides onto him. That black wall, in which anenchanted row of empty drawing-rooms stood silent, seemed to putitself down on him. But again he looked toward the desk; there, among a multitude of papers, lay a letter from Maryan, receivedmany days before. Darvid had not destroyed or put away thisletter, and not knowing himself the reason why, had left it onthe desk there. The letter, in that great study, appeareddefinitely with its white color on the green of the malachitewriting utensils. Moreover, it was not a letter. A number oflines merely. He had written that, wishing to spare his fatherand himself a new personal interview; he gives notice, inwriting, of his trip to America. But as he is slow to writeletters he confines himself to a few words. Since anincomprehensible lack of logic in directing his life had forcedhim to become a laborer, he desired to choose the field and themanner according to his own individuality. He had turned hispersonal property into money; this had brought him a considerablesum; he had borrowed another sum; he did not ask pardon foracting thus, since this borrowing was the natural outcome of aposition of which he was not the cause, but on the contrary thevictim. He makes no reproaches, since he is ever of opinion thatall such things as offences and services, crimes and virtues, aresoup prepared from the bones of great-grandfathers, and served inpainted pots to Arcadians. All this was concluded with acompliment which was smooth, rounded, exquisite as to style, plan, and execution. 

Lack of logic. Those three words had fixed themselves in Darvid'smemory, and after the words "what for?" appeared in it mostfrequently. Could they really relate to him? Had he in factcommitted an error in logic? Yes, it seemed so. In that case hisclear, sober, logical reason had deceived him. He rose, and withhis profile toward the door, felt again, rather than saw, a blackwall of darkness beyond. Again a shiver ran along the skin of hisshoulders, which quivered and bent somewhat. He went to the desk, from which he took another letter, thrown down a moment before, and unread yet. Something in the room was moving; certain littlesteps ran along the carpet quietly. Puffie had woke; had run tothe man, and begun to squirm at his feet. 

"Puffie!" said Darvid, and he began to read the letter. It was aninvitation from Prince Zeno to a grand farewell ball. The princeand his family were going abroad, and wished to take farewell oftheir acquaintances in the first rank of them with the "modernCid. " Prince Zeno had often given this title to Darvid. Butto-day the "modern Cid" read the letter of invitation while hismouth was awry from disgust. It had not the famous smilebristling with pin-points, but simply that disfigurement of thelips which accompanies the swallowing of something which isnauseating and repugnant. He placed before his mind the societyin which some time before he had passed a few days at the huntingtrip. This society would fill the prince's drawing-rooms on thatday, and not only did he note in himself an utter absence ofdesire to be in that society, but a repulsion for it. Not that hecherished hatred toward those people, but they were perfectlyindifferent to him. He did not reproach that society; but when hethought of it he was conscious again of a boundless space and avacuum, which divided him from those who formed it. He imaginedto himself Prince Zeno's drawing-rooms filled with faces, costumes, conversations, card-tables; and, it seemed to him, thatit all existed at an immense distance--on the other side of aspace that was infinite and empty--on one edge of this space washe; on the other were they; between him and them lay a vacuum; nobond between them; not even one as slender as a spider-web. 

In the midst of the lofty chamber, above the round table, burnedthe lamp with a great and calm light; on the desk, in massivecandlesticks, burned candles. In that abundant light Darvid stoodnear the desk, with bent shoulders; a number of wrinkles betweenhis brows; his face inclined low toward the paper which he heldin his hand. At his feet, on the rug, like a tiny statue, sat themotionless Puffie; with upraised head, and through silken hair, the dog looked into the face of the man. But Darvid did not seethe little animal, and did not read the flattering phrases on thepaper; he only repeated the words which, on a time, he had heardfrom his daughter:

"What do you want of so many people, father? Do you love them? Dothey love you? What comes of this? Pleasure or profit? What is itall for?"

"I do not love them, little one, and they do not love me. Profitcomes to me from this--significance in society. "

"But what is significance to you, father? What do you want ofsignificance? Does it give you happiness?"

This time there appeared on his lips the smile full of pinpoints, which was famous in society. 

"It has not given it, little one!"

His child had let down on her question his thought to the basisof life, as if on threads. Now he looked around, and his smilewas bristling with pin-points of irony, increasing in sharpness. He thought a long time before he said, aloud:

"What comes of this?"

And afterward, in an inquiring tone, he almost cried:

"An error?"

In the light of this thought that his life with its toils, itsconflicts, and its triumphs could be an error, he saw, again, that Medusa-face, pale with terror. 

Puffie, perhaps frightened by the cry which had been rent fromhis master, fell to barking. Darvid turned from the desk, and hisglance met the black wall beyond the door. 

"Was it an error?" he repeated. 

The darkness was silent, and a face without eyes seemed to gazeat him persistently, with attention. He moved forward a few stepsquickly, and pressed the bell-knob. To the incoming servant heindicated the door, and said:

"Light up the drawing-rooms!"

After a few moments the series of drawing-rooms emerged from thedarkness, and stood in the light of blazing lamps and candles. Globe-lamps, burning at the walls, cast a hazy half-light, inwhich glittered, here and there, golden gleams, and appeared thefeatures of painted faces and landscapes. 

From shady corners emerged, partially, the forms of slender andswelling vases; portions of white garlands on the walls; thedelicate mists of dim colors on Gobelin tapestry; the brightscarlet and blue of silk drapery. Farther on, in the smalldrawing-room, burned, in two chandeliers, a bundle of tapers, beneath which hung a crown of crystals, glittering like icicles, or immense congealed tears. Farther on still, in the dining-room, with its dark walls, gleamed a bright spot in the grand lamp ofpendant bronze above the table. This point seemed very distantfrom Darvid's study; but on the whole expanse which divided himfrom it there was neither voice nor sound--there was nothingliving. Notwithstanding the multitude of objects scattered, orcollected, this was a desert on which silence had imposed itself. 

From the threshold of the study to that door, beyond which thelargest of the lamps was suspended as a shining object in itsbronze above the table, Darvid moved, stepping with inclinedface; at his lips the fire of a lighted cigarette; now, as itwere, extinguished; and, now, shining up again. Behind him, rightthere near his feet, with the end of its snout almost touchingthe floor, rolled along little Puffie, like a bundle of raw silk. 

After a while, the step of the advancing man grew more hurriedand uneven; increasing disquiet was expressed in him; now thelight scattering along the unoccupied and silent space the extentof that space, and he himself wandering along through it. Whatdid all this signify? Here and there, in the gildings andpolished surfaces, quivered flashes like playful gnomes; at otherpoints, on bluish backgrounds, pale faces looked from tapestrythrown over furniture; still, farther, a great mirror reflectstwo clusters of lights, beneath which hang crystal pendants, and, increasing the perspective, made the space still greater, and thelight more peculiar; in another place, from behind bluish foldsdepending from a door, appears a vase of Chinese porcelain; and, at that moment, it assumes, in Darvid's eyes, a strangeappearance. Large, covered with blue decorations, it has a formwhich is swollen in the middle, but slender above, with a longneck, and not altogether visible; it seems to lean forward frombehind the curtains, gaze at the passing man, follow his steps, and laugh at him. Yes, the Chinese vase is laughing--its bodyseems to swell more and more from laughter, and in the bluepainting the white background has, here and there, a deceptivesimilarity to grinning teeth. Darvid strives not to look at thevase, and hastens on; behind him Puffie's shaggy feet tread thefloor more hurriedly, but as he returns, the porcelain monsterthrusts out its long neck again from behind the curtain, jeers, bares its teeth, and seems ready to burst from laughter. At theopposite side of that drawing-room, on a blue background, is thepale face of an old man, and from above a gray beard the sad andinquisitive eyes of the patriarch are settled on Darvid. 

What does all this mean? Darvid halted in the centre of one ofthe drawing-rooms, right there behind him the bundle of raw silkhalted also, and stood on its shaggy paws. What was he doing inthose empty drawing-rooms; why had he commanded to light them?This act seems like madness. He called to mind recent acts of aninsane king, who, in a brilliantly lighted edifice, listenedalone to the rendering of an opera. Is he also becoming insane?Why is he not at work? He has so much to do! Darvid advancedquickly, and halted again. The Chinese vase inclined half wayfrom behind the curtain, it seemed bursting from laughter. Work?What for? The object? The object? That decides everything! Heturned his glance from the gnashing teeth of the Chinese monster, and it met the pale face of the patriarch, whose eyes, lookingout at him from the blue background, and from above a gray beard, said with sadness, and inquiringly: "The wrong road!"

He had lost the road! Only the habit of restraining internalimpulses, and the expression of them, kept him from crying"Help!" But he had the cry within him, and with a quick anduneven tread he went toward the great lamp burning at the end ofthe perspective, in the centre of the open space between thewalls of the dining-room. Behind him ran along Puffie, with allthe speed of his shaggy feet. 

Meanwhile, in one of the drawing-rooms, the clock began to strikeeleven--one, two, three. Its deep sounds penetrated slowly theempty space on which silence had imposed itself, until somewhere, at the other end of the perspective, a second clock began tostrike, as if answering this one in a thinner voice and morehurriedly. This seemed a voice, an echo, a conversation carriedon by things that were inanimate. 

Darvid returned to his study, and pressing the knob of the bellagain, said to his servant:

"Put out the lights!"

He sat in one of the armchairs at the round table, and felt anunspeakable weariness from the crown of his head to his feet. Some light body sprang to his knee. He placed his hand on thesilky coat of the creature nestling up to him, and said:

"Puffie!"

He considered that he must renounce absolutely that colossalaffair to obtain which he had struggled so long, becausestrength, and especially desire for such immense toil, seemed tofail him. He was so tired. But if he abandons toil what will hedo; what is he to live for? What is the object of life? Thedarkness was silent, and as a face without eyes seemed to gaze onhim with stubbornness and attention. 

A few hours later, in a sleeping-room, furnished by the mostskilled of decorators in the capital, a night-lamp, placed on themantle, cast its light on a bed adorned with rich carving; ahand, white and thin, stretched forth on the silken coverlet, anda face, also thin, with ruddy side-whiskers, itself as if carvedout of ivory, and gleaming with a pair of blue, sleepless eyes, which wandered through that spacious, half-lighted, chamber witha tortured and heavy expression. 

All at once Darvid raised himself in bed, and, with his elbow onthe pillow, gazed upward. Higher on the wall was the face of amaiden, small, oval, rosy, with thick, bright hair scatteredabove her Grecian forehead, and by a movement of her eyes sheseemed to summon the man gazing at her. She smiled, with rosylips, at him, lovingly, and moved her eyelids, inviting him. Darvid, with raised brows, and with his forehead gathered in anumber of great wrinkles; with eyes turned to that picture abovehim bent forward still more, and, with trembling lips, whispered:"My little one. " But immediately after he rubbed his eyes, andsmiled. It was a picture by Greuze! There were two of them: onealmost invisible in the shade; the other that one emerging fromthe shade into a half light in such fashion that the head of themaiden seemed to stand out from, the canvas as it were suspended. 

"It is like Cara; very like her. The same type--the very samelips, hair, and forehead--"

He knew that that was a painted face; still, with his head on thepillow, he raised his eyes to it frequently, and as often as heraised them he saw a loving smile on the rosy lips and thedistinct movement of the eyes which seemed to call and invitehim. 

He thought that he was ill, unnerved; that he must summon inphysicians. Next morning Darvid heard, in the study of a famousdoctor, that his nerves were unstrung remarkably; suffering froma blow which had struck him--over-work. He had toiled beyondmeasure. There was only one cure: complete and long rest. Ajourney abroad. A change of impressions, after hard and specialtoil; life in the midst of splendid scenery and works of art. 

Meditating afterward on this advice of the doctor, he thoughtthat he had not the slightest wish to follow it. Neither naturenor art attracted him in any way. During his whole life he hadnot had the time for them, and it was too late now for newstudies. Why was he to undertake a journey if not for thatpurpose? He had travelled much in his lifetime, but always onbusiness, and with a clearly defined object; without business andan object, travelling through the world seemed to him exactlylike that walking in the night through his empty, lightedmansion; something akin to madness. 

What then? Days passed again in toil, amidst consultations andreckonings. The arranging of balances and reports--the round bodyrolled on by the power of impetus. At appointed hours he receivedvisits. He received also Prince Zeno, who came to take farewellof him for many months, till the following winter. 

"We are scattering, all of us, " said the prince. "Like birds inautumn we are flying to places where the sun shines mostbeautifully. You, too, will go, of course. Whither? To the Southor the East? Perhaps to that estate where your wife and daughterare passing the sad time of family mourning? But apropos of thecountry. You know that poor Kranitski; well, he came to takefarewell of me. He has left the city; left it never to come backagain. He has gone to the country. He is to remain on hisestate--a small one, not over-pleasantly situated. I was thereonce on a visit to his mother, with whom I was connected byblood-bonds. A tiresome little hole, that place! But what is tobe done? This handsome and once charming man has grown dreadfullyold; the conditions of his life were difficult--so he has gone. Your son is making a long journey. Is he in the United Statesalready? Baron Blauendorf is going there also; only yesterday hebade good-by to us. We scatter through the world; but, till wemeet again? For I should be in despair were I to lose anacquaintance so precious and dear to me as yours is. "

Ah, how indifferent it was to Darvid whether he should keep orlose acquaintance with Prince Zeno. He saw and recognized in theman many fine and agreeable qualities, but he would rather notsee him, just as he would rather not see others. All seemedstrange to him and distant. Conversation, even with the mostagreeable and worthy, both wearied and annoyed him. "What do youwant of so many people, father? Do you love them? Do they loveyou?"

One thought now devoured him. That "poor Kranitski" had left thecity to live on his estate permanently, or rather in his poorvillage, situated in that same district as Krynichna, not verynear, but in the same region. Of course, he will be a frequentguest at Krynichna--but, maybe not; even, surely not. Indeed, shehad broken with him, and, in truth, she felt immense shame andpain--he laughed. A penitent Magdalen! He finished with thethought: Unhappy woman!

But what more had he to do that day? Ah! he had an appointment tomeet that young sculptor at the cemetery toward evening, andagree on a monument for Cara. That was to be a monument of greatcost and beauty--a mountain of gold above the "little one. "

The great cemetery was in the bright green of leaves which hadrecently unfolded on the trees, and in the intoxicating odor ofviolets over Cara's grave-mound, which was covered with a carpet, not of modest violets, but of exquisite exotic flowers. Darvidspoke long with the young sculptor, and with a number of othermen, giving, agreeably and fluently, opinions and directionsconcerning the erection of the monument. While doing this, hiseyes dropped, at moments, to the grave, and were fixed with suchforce on it as if he wished to pierce through that carpet offlowers; through the stratum of brick; through the coffin, andlook at that which was under the lid. At last, with a politeelevation of his hat, he took farewell of them, and passed on bya path, amid columns and statues intwined with a lace of brightleaves, into the centre of that broad city of the dead. That washis first acquaintance with such a city. He had seen a multitudeof other such cities, but had never become acquainted with one ofthem. He had looked into them sometimes, but briefly, and becausehe was forced to it--his head was ever filled with thoughtsaltogether foreign to such places. Now he passed the interior ofthe cemetery with this thought. So all ends here! He did not goout for a long time. His carriage, with cushions ofsapphire-colored damask, and his pair of splendid horses stoodlong before the cemetery gate, obedient and motionless. In thechapel tower the silver music of the vesper-bell sounded, andceased to sound. Darkness had begun to fall on the fresh green ofthe trees, and the urns, columns, and statues standing thicklybetween them, as Darvid drove away from the cemetery. 

"When church-bells sound, as this has, people pray, " thought he. "Do they think that God hears them? Does God exist? Perhaps hedoes. It is even likely that he does, but that he occupieshimself with men and their entreaties!--I am not sure. I havenever given time to this, and it seems to me that no one knows. Men have wrangled over this question for ages and--know nothing. It is a mystery. All places are full of mystery, but men thinkthat reason is a great power. That is an error! Whatever endsthus is misery. Everything ends in stupidity. All things arefoolishness! Foolishness!"

Reaching the steps of his mansion he thought that he felt greatlywearied. Is this old age? not long before he felt perfectlyyouthful. But, evidently, this is the way--Age comes and seizes aman. One giantess more--it seems to him that he is a hundredyears old. The same with Malvina. How changed she was when hespoke last to her. She had preserved her youth so long, and on asudden she was aged. She must have suffered greatly. Haplesswoman!

He entered his study; sat down at his desk. Puffie sprang ontohis knee immediately. He put one hand on the coat of the littledog, and with the other opened a drawer, looked into it, pushedthe drawer back, and, resting comfortably against the arms of thechair, gazed into space with a fixed, torpid look. 

He was too wise not to see standing, earlier or later, beforehim, the stern irony existing in human affairs. It had beenstanding before him for a long time, but, standing behind veils, such as labor, success--the eternal lack of time. Now the veilshad fallen. He beheld the irony clearly. It was embodied in theswollen vase of Chinese porcelain, which, though not standing inthat chamber, seemed to bend forward from the corner, withsloping eyes painted in sapphire. The figure leered at him; baredits white teeth, and with swollen body seemed to burst fromlaughter. What could he place against that monster? how was he tocover it?--he knew not. He understood well that at the bottom ofthis all lay an error. On the road of life there was somethingwhich he had not noted; something which he had not recognized; hehad let something slip from his hands which still were sorapacious; he, an architect, observing with mighty diligence thelaw of equilibrium in buildings reared by him, had not preservedthat equilibrium in his own house; so that now it was hard forhim to dwell there, and he wished to depart from it. 

When he goes it will be better for all. Better for him and forthem. That unhappy woman will be free, and may become happy. Maryan will return from the end of the earth to receive hisinheritance, if for no other reason. Irene will reappear insociety. Irene, what a strange character!--so deeply tender, andso insolent. How savagely she hurled at him the word "vileness!"But she was right. He had committed that moment a vile act, justas in general he was forced to commit many follies--but "uselesscruelty" will give reward--Irene will learn that he was notso--no, neither she nor anyone will know the nature of his act. He raised his head, in which he felt once more an access ofpride. No, he will not give account of his motives to anyone; norconfess on his knees, like a penitent sinner; nor will he takethe pose of a hero. Let them think what they like. How can thatconcern him? Nothing concerns him. 

By chance he raised his eyes and saw, hanging in the air, theface of a maiden, oval, rosy, and bright-haired which smiled athim lovingly, and made a clear motion, inviting him. Greuze'spicture was not there, still the vision was present. With eyesraised toward it Darvid smiled. 

"Yes, little one, quickly. "

He took a pen and began a telegram to Irene. He penned theaddress, and then wrote: "Come as quickly as possible forPuffie. " He put the pen down, rang, and told the footman to sendthe telegram immediately. Then, passing his hand over the coat ofthe sleeping little dog, he sat long, sunk in thought. The worldappeared before him with all that he had ever seen, owned, orused in it. Countries, cities, nations, their dwellings andlanguages, banks, exchanges, markets, offices, noise, throngs, struggles, horse-races, movements, uproar, life. This vision didnot halt there before him, but sailed away, as it were, on agiant river, ever farther from him; farther, till it was on theopposite shore of a great space, entirely cut off and entirelyindifferent. When he considered that he might spring over thatspace and mingle again in all those things, repulsion came onhim, and also fear; he shook his head in refusal, and said tohimself: "I do not want them!"

He was very calm; an expression of happiness began to spread overhis features. If anyone had seized him then and tried to hurl himto the side of that broad space on which this life is situated, he would have resisted with all his might, and, if need be, wouldhave begged to remain on that other side. 

He looked up and smiled. 

"Now, my little one, I am coming!"

He opened the drawer. 

Next morning news flew through the city like a thunderbolt, thatthe renowned financial operator and millionnaire, AloysiusDarvid, had, during the night, in his study, taken his own lifewith a revolver. The first and universal thought was ofbankruptcy. But no. Soon it became clear and most certain thathis ship, in full canvas, was sailing on the broad stream ofsuccess, and was bearing an immense, glittering golden fleece. The Argonaut, however, no man knew for what reason--throughcauses hidden altogether from everyone--had sprung from the deckinto the dark and mysterious abyss. 

THE END.