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Updated: September 19, 2025
Even his fair complexion had grown sallow, and his lips had paled. He caused exactly the impression of a wax doll in an elegant dress, with glittering eyes. Darvid, with some humor and playfully, spoke of the edifice which was to be erected in Chicago according to a plan by a female architect. "I tremble for those who are to visit the building.
What was he doing in those empty drawing-rooms; why had he commanded to light them? This act seems like madness. He called to mind recent acts of an insane king, who, in a brilliantly lighted edifice, listened alone to the rendering of an opera. Is he also becoming insane? Why is he not at work? He has so much to do! Darvid advanced quickly, and halted again.
Young Darvid has as many debts as there are golden curls on that cherub head of his. What will his papa say? What? Not long since that papa returned from the ends of the earth, after a long absence; will he put an end to the tricks of the boy? will he be able to do so?
Darvid cast an inattentive glance through the room, over which, in the pale lamplight, two beautiful female heads seemed to hover, reflected and multiplied in mirrors standing opposite each other. This was a most beautiful work a genuine Greuze. To win this masterpiece Darvid outbid a number of men of high standing; he triumphed and was delighted.
But those were only short and rare moments, after which Malvina Darvid was again entirely flooded with the brilliancy of her beautiful eyes, her splendid toilet, the sounds of her metallic voice, warm and full of sweetness. She seemed barely a few years older than her elder daughter. Sometimes guests left her box with the words: "She is more beautiful than her daughter."
"All the honors, the glitter, the luxury, etc., are gates 'before which men with spades are standing; this means that behind them we 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 since childhood and this disenchantment."
But in the immense number of men connected with Darvid by a net of most varied relations there were some to whom he seemed a curious enigma, representing a certain inveterate struggle, the motives of which rested on the mysterious bases of his being.
And offener still: "She is more charming and sympathetic than her daughter." Still nature had been no stepmother to Irene Darvid; but life, though so short thus far, had stamped on her exterior a mark which, while it astonished and discouraged, repelled.
Above the table, in place of the odors of meats and sauces, hovered the light odors of fruit and vanilla. When the dessert was served, Darvid spoke of fruits peculiar to various climates which he had visited in his almost ceaseless journeys; all at once he stopped the conversation in mid-career, and turned to Cara, who struggled a few times with a dry and stubborn cough.
In summer, the nightingales sing; in autumn, the bagpipes play; in winter, God's winds rush outside the wall and roar; but, inside, it is honest, and quiet, and safe." What Maryan had told Kranitski about Darvid was true. The man was engaged in real orgies of labor.
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