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Updated: May 20, 2025
This was Kranitski, at that time in his highest manly beauty; petted, and a favorite in the best social circles because of 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 such an expression on his face, as if he desired only one thing on earth, to be able to drop on his knees before her.
Only two red spots above his brow interrupted the whiteness of his forehead, which was slightly wrinkled; his eyes, usually gleaming or 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 her hand.
On the last words he put an emphasis which seemed to bring Kranitski into a profound confusion, which he could not master. "Parole d'honneur," began he, "I do not understand such a real friendly service with such a tone." "You will understand at once. This sum offered you is not a friendly service, but a simple commercial transaction.
Suddenly he stopped part way on the stairs, and asked with a half jeering, 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 my great-grandfather? Well, has he found it out?" With red spots on his cheeks and forehead Kranitski blinked affirmatively.
Kranitski, left alone, locked up in his lodgings, robed in his dressing-gown, once costly, now faded, its sleeves tattered at the wrists, lay on the long-chair in front of his collection of pipes, arranged on the wall cunningly. In the society in which he moved collecting was universal. They collected pictures, miniatures, engravings, autographs, porcelain, old books, old spoons, old stuffs.
Noble creature!" whispered he, and his lips quivered, and on his forehead appeared the red spots. Maryan called from beyond the door: "Hurry, old man! We shall be late!" A few minutes afterward Kranitski entered the drawing-room. His shoulders 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.
He laughed and added at once, with immense affability: "I see your son frequently that worthy Kranitski presented him a year ago to us; I and my wife are very, very thankful. He is sympathetic, handsome, and a highly intellectual young man, who does you honor." He went out.
I cannot, of course, leave you a victim to melancholy." Kranitski was moved; gratitude and tenderness were gazing out of his eyes. "Thanks, thanks! You touch me." He pressed the hands of both in turn, holding Maryan's hand longer 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.
Kranitski in view of this spent more time than was needed in placing his hat on one of the pieces of furniture, besides an expression of alarm covered his face, now bent forward, and, in the twinkle of an eye, the wrinkling of his forehead and the dropping of his cheeks, made him look ten years older.
Had it not been for his eyes, which were gleaming brightly, he might have been mistaken at a distance for a stuffed and elegantly dressed manikin. Baron Emil and Kranitski knew what this meant. According to Maryan that was a chill into which he fell always after disappointment or disenchantment.
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