United States or Heard Island and McDonald Islands ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"The surmises of children like you have no sense in them most of the 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, but Irene's voice sounded almost harsh when she inquired: "What man?" "Pan Kranitski."
"Well old man," said Maryan, turning to Kranitski, "what are they doing on the stage?" Kranitski dropped his hand with the opera-glass quickly and blurted out: "What is the question, Maryan?" His eyes, which were fine yet in their prolonged lids, were glazed with a tear. "Ho, ho! romantic, there is a tear in your eye. The subject must be affecting! Let us listen!"
Is it settled? Are you going to America surely?" "It has crystallized this far," answered Maryan, "that I start no later than to-morrow. Emil will remain here some weeks yet. I, to become acquainted with the people and the country, leave here to-morrow." Kranitski straightened himself and sat there dumb for a time, with fixed look, then he repeated: "To-morrow?"
Yes, wealth is a door before which the heralds of life have their station I am not a man pasted over with labels. I confess that this perspective entices me; what I possess now is merely a little crumb for my hunger of life. I shall leave here greedy for new sensations and new profits eager for love in action and for gain." After a moment's silence Kranitski whispered: "They are going!"
Everything passes-, and your sorrow also will pass. You may be better off in the world than you now are. You may yet enjoy pleasant quiet in Lipovka, in your own cottage. Stefanek and I may think out something, 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."
"Yes, Quatrocento," finished the baron; "who knows even if they are not purer, more perfect Quatrocento than Rossetti and Morris." Kranitski listened, spoke rarely, while something within him began to weep. He, too, loved art, but how far was he now from its loftiest caprices.
"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 him that as if through favor, or sneering. Arabian adventure! He is only my godson, but better than men of high birth.
Meanwhile widow Clemens had returned to the kitchen, and there, not without a loud clattering of overshoes, had begun to cook the dinner. But Kranitski neither heard nor saw anything. From time to time the head, with its great cap, looked in through the kitchen door, gazed on him unquietly and pushed back to look in again soon. "Will you have dinner now?" inquired she at last. "It is ready."
She did not wish to make further use of her husband's wealth, or the position which it give her in society. She wished to go away, to settle down in some silent corner, vanish from the eyes of people. Kranitski was so excited that he almost sobbed; here his speech was interrupted by a rough, sarcastic voice: "It is well that she came to her senses at last " "What senses?
The baron, giving his hand to Kranitski in parting, said: "We shall see each other again. You will visit me. I do not leave for a number of weeks I doubt if this porcelain comes from Meissen as Maryan insists. In what year was the factory in Meissen?" "In 1709," answered Maryan, and to Kranitski he said: "Adieu, my good friend, adieu; be well, and write to me sometimes.
Word Of The Day