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Updated: June 15, 2025
Have you no love for science?" Maryan let out a streak of smoke from his lips, and spoke with deliberation: "I feel no repugnance whatever toward science. I read much, and mental curiosity is just one of the most emphatic traits of my individuality. In childhood I swallowed books in monumental numbers, but I have never learned school lessons.
Here Cara finished the narrative which was somewhat of a dramatic representation. Maryan rose suddenly from his seat. "I must go," said he, standing rigidly, and with a serious face. "Stay, Maryan," said Malvina, in a low voice. On her face was a look of pain; a deep wrinkle appeared on her forehead; her voice was imploring.
She turned toward the kitchen, but right behind her, stepping almost on her heels went Kranitski, delighted and impatient, he almost snatched from her hand two visiting cards, on which he read the names: Maryan Darvid and Baron Emil Blauendorf. "Ah!" cried he, "those dear children! The baron has returned then! And his first thought after returning was of me! What a heart! I go; I run!"
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.
Most frequently, however, Cara was occupied with lessons, and Maryan by society, and only she and Malvina, with artistic work in hand, listened in silence and thoughtfully to that resonant, manly voice, which rendered masterpieces of thought and poetry with perfect appreciation and feeling.
Maryan fixed his eyes on her attentively and laughed, but his laugh was not sincere, it was forced. "Curiosity," said he, "is the first step toward hell, and the surest road to premature age. You will grow old before your time, little one." "This is not curiosity!" interrupted Cara. "There is some kind of trouble here, I know not what it is; but something so unpleasant and dreadful.
"What Nazarene?" asked Kranitski, with astonishment. "What Nazarene?" "But how should I know what Nazarene? It may be an image of the Lord Jesus of Nazareth. They only said that they would go to look at it, and come back here." "Come back," repeated Kranitski, "that is well. We shall have a talk it is so long since I have had a talk with anyone and I shall see Maryan, the dear, dear boy!"
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.
And he looked at him with unquiet curiosity, for something unexpected in Maryan astonished him. In contradiction to what one might expect, and which seemed natural, there was not in the expression of face and the movements of. Maryan either the pleasure of youth at something accomplished, or sorrow at the departure of the woman, for whom he had accomplished it.
Without occupation he would be bored in all places, and besides he must finish these family questions. He must tame Maryan, and hinder Irene's marriage to the baron. He is fighting a battle with his own son and daughter. Cara is the only one with whom he has no trouble. She is mild and beautiful. Her head is turned also, but in another, a more agreeable direction.
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