erced his heart
cruelly. In his mind hovered the words "departure, death!" and
before his imagination rose the vision of a flock of birds flying
in every direction.

To buy cheap to sell dear! That was vile! At the same time he
felt that the pains in his side and his heart had grown keener,
and a feeling of faintness possessed him. After a moment's
thought, he said:

"No, my dear friends; it seems that I shall not be able to serve
you. I am sick--I am growing old--besides, my dears, I must tell
you openly--"

He hesitated, and took from the table his gold case, which he had
opened before the guests. He meditated a moment, and then said:

"Your undertaking has sides which wound my sense of propriety
somewhat. This business will always be buying in a temple, even
in temples, I might say, for art is sacred, and so is the
fatherland. You are both too clever to require explanation on
this point. The loneliness in which I shall be when you are gone
frightens and pains me--pains me immensely, but I am forced to
say that I shall not be with you in this matter; no, decidedly, I
shall not be of your company."

By nature Kranitski was averse to disputes, and for various
reasons unused to them, hence he had begun to speak with
hesitation and dislike; but afterward he rested his shoulder
against the arm of the sofa, and with head somewhat raised,
twirling the cigarette-case in his hand, he had the look of a
great lord, especially if compared with the baron, who always
seemed somewhat like a mosquito preparing to bite. And this time
he began with a sneering smile:

"You are always painted in the color of romantic poetry of sacred
memory. While you were speaking I seemed to be listening to 'a
postillion, playing under the windows of incurable patients,'
and--"

But Mary an rose from his armchair, and broke in:

"As for me, I respect individuality; and since that of our
beloved Pan Arthur is developed in his way, we have no right to
insist on attacking him with ridicule. To be ridiculous proves
nothing. 'Thou art ridiculous,' is no argument. I may be
ridiculous in the eyes of another man, though right in my own.
But a truce to discussion; I remind thee, Emil, of our
porcelain--"

"Yes, yes!" replied the baron, and he rose also. "We must take
farewell of our beloved friend here--"

At that moment, through the open door of the sleeping-room,
entered Mother Clemens with a great tray. Since she had gratified
her favorite