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Updated: May 19, 2025
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 to rustle unpleasantly. At last the door of the antechamber opened and Maryan appeared, hat in hand. "Good-day, my father," began he on entering.
On the 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 later than the regular train which preceded it. Darvid stood near the door of the station whence he could see his son, who passed with slow step along a part of the platform.
He saw this through a window of a railroad car, mechanically, as we see 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.
What were human anger, hatred, disagreement in presence of that immense something into whose face he was gazing at that moment? What could Kranitski, hitherto hateful to Darvid, be to him now, when he said to himself: "I know not; I understand not; it is impossible to comprehend this; and still it is real; since I I can do nothing for thee, my little daughter."
"I am glad that you invited me, for it is long since I have had the pleasure of talking with you. We both have been greatly occupied. For some weeks Bianca Biannetti has taken all my time." He was perfectly unconstrained, though not at all gladsome in his manner. Darvid, standing at the round table, looked at his son quickly. "Are you in love with that singer?" asked he.
The baron plays like an artist; Maryan translates poetry into various languages. In the box were a number of others resembling these two, but the others had places elsewhere in the theatre: they had come for a brief time and left the box afterward, then there remained only the baron and young Darvid.
Darvid, paying no attention to the interruption, continued: "The sum which you lost in betting at the last races was, even for my fortune, considerable thirty thousand." Maryan had now almost recovered his balance. "If this shrift is indispensable I will correct the figures thirty-six thousand." "The suppers which you give to friends, male and female, have the fame of Lucullus feasts."
The figure of Darvid 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.
Then with elastic movement, and with a grace which was unconscious and uncommon, he turned toward the door and strode out. Darvid remained alone. In that spacious, lofty chamber, richly furnished, in the abundant light of a costly lamp, he remained alone. Clasping his inclined head with both hands, he squeezed it with his white, lean fingers, as with pincers.
If the words exchanged had been less emphatic, and had followed one another less quickly, Darvid and his daughter might, perhaps, have heard, in a corner of the room, behind a wall of books arranged on highly ornamented shelves, a slight rustle which lasted a short time. Something had moved there, and then stopped moving.
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