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Updated: June 21, 2025
While reading Darvid put a brief question to the servant: "Has Pan Maryan returned?" The answer was negative. Large and heavy wrinkles appeared between Darvid's brows, but he continued to read his notes. Almost a quarter of an hour later he wrote something more while bending over the desk, and standing.
Some hours before he had inquired of his secretary, who, in spite of youth, zeal, and wit, was bending beneath the burden of labor imposed on him, whether everything was ready for the ball to be given soon, and whether he had received directions from the lady of the house during his, Darvid's, recent absence. The secretary showed great astonishment. How was that?
At that moment the servant announced from the antechamber, through the open door: "Prince Zeno Skirgello." Delight burst forth on Darvid's face. Cara sprang up from her knees, and looking around, called: "Puff! Puff! Come, let us be off! doggy." "Where is the prince?" asked Darvid, hurriedly. "Is he here, or in the carriage?" "In the carriage," answered the servant.
Toward the end of the last act Kranitski entered Malvina Darvid's box, and saluting each woman silently he stood motionless. Malvina bowed toward him slightly, then a shadow came out on her face; this shadow seemed to have torn itself from an internal cloud.
He looked around at the door beyond which thick darkness was hiding, impenetrably, a series of drawing-rooms. This darkness was like a black wall outside the door. Along Darvid's shoulders ran a movement of the skin, the same as a man feels when something heavy from behind is placed upon his shoulders, or rides onto him.
This point seemed very distant from Darvid's study; but on the whole expanse which divided him from it there was neither voice nor sound there was nothing living. Notwithstanding the multitude of objects scattered, or collected, this was a desert on which silence had imposed itself.
"And you would be right, perfectly right!" exclaimed the prince. Then he bent his lips almost to Darvid's ear and whispered: "There is no Pactolus which such a young buck as Baron Emil would not drink up. He is a genuine devourer of fortunes. He has swallowed one already and the half of another."
Kranitski looked around and saw a man who seemed at first to be an undefined patch on the snowy background. After a few seconds he recognized Darvid's features in ruddy side-whiskers, but he strained his eyes rather long inquiring whether he was not mistaken.
Let one giantess fight with the other; we shall see which one wins. The power of science was one of the very few articles of Darvid's faith. That power had to be great, since it was indispensable in the conquest of wealth. He had tried that power more than once in his mighty struggles for wealth; he would try it now, also. This was only the beginning of the battle.
At last Darvid's study was deserted, and on his lips was fixed a smile which resembled a pricking pin. Why had he poured out such a great handful of money for an object which to him was indifferent, the need of which he did not recognize? Why? Habit, relations, public opinion, expressed orally, and by the printed word. A comedy! Misery!
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