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Updated: June 19, 2025
The box was filled with an assembly of brilliant and agreeable men, one of whom, with his gray hair and bearing of an official, made a low obeisance before the wife of Darvid, and seemed to lay at her feet smiles full of homage.
Darvid grew terrible during his remaining words. His fingers were sinking into the table, on which he rested his hand. The cluster of wrinkles between his brows became deeper, his eyes had the flash of steel in them; he was all hatred, anger, contempt. But Kranitski, who at first listened to him as if unable to move from astonishment, boiled up also with anger. "What do you say?" cried he.
In Maryan's eyes again appeared amazement without limit; but on his 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 for reasoning, for you have too much of that already; but for character. You must learn three things: economy, modesty, and labor."
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's sweet tones were heard, she answered: "I am not sure that anyone could tell why he or she loves.
Though Kranitski's shoulders were bent at that moment, his form was shapely and imposing; the baron, holding his arm, seemed small and frail; he made one think of a fly. In the bedroom he said, with a low voice: "It is reported in the city that papa Darvid is opposed to my plans concerning Panna Irene. Do you know of this?"
Darvid had never had time for such thoughts. The stream which bore him on was rushing and roaring, glittering and turbulent. But the giantess, because of her power, sprang over all golden mountains and came! He was thinking of this at the moment when Kranitski saw him standing at the wall and squeezing into its snowy drapery, just as a frightened insect might squeeze itself into a cranny.
"For," added she, "one would need to have mental rheumatism to believe that you loved only mamma all the time, and even that you loved her in general mamma, of course, did not think that you did." "Irene!" cried Darvid. But she did not permit interruption. "Allow me, I beg you, to say that I am not criticising. I am not in any sense. There is not a shade of criticism in what I say.
Darvid strives not to look at the vase, and hastens on; behind him Puffie's shaggy feet tread the floor more hurriedly, but as he returns, the porcelain monster thrusts out its long neck again from behind the curtain, jeers, bares its teeth, and seems ready to burst from laughter.
Next morning news flew through the city like a thunderbolt, that the renowned financial operator and millionnaire, Aloysius Darvid, had, during the night, in his study, taken his own life with a revolver. The first and universal thought was of bankruptcy. But no.
In the light of this thought that his life with its toils, its conflicts, 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 from his master, fell to barking. Darvid turned from the desk, and his glance met the black wall beyond the door. "Was it an error?" he repeated.
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