she wished to do it in the best manner possible. On
her head was a cap as white as snow; the clattering overshoes
were no longer on her feet; and a checkered kerchief was arranged
neatly, even with elegance, across her bosom. On the tray were
small glasses, a bottle of liqueur, a pate de foie gras, and
three cups from which rose the excellent odor of coffee. All this
she placed on a table before the sofa, and left the little
drawing-room with gloomy eye, but firm foot.

Kranitski sprang up from the sofa.

"My dearest friends, I beg you--take a glass of liqueur, that
which thou lovest, baron--Maryan, a little of the pate de foie
gras--"

But they touched their watches simultaneously.

"No, no!" began the baron, refusing, "we have only three minutes
left."

"We lunched at Borel's, who, as my father says, gives us Lucullus
feasts."

Kranitski did not cease to urge them. Certain habits or instincts
of a noble brightened his eyes, and shaped his arms in gestures
of entreaty. But they resisted. In five minutes they must be in
that apparently wretched antiquarian shop, where Maryan had
discovered the amazing porcelain. 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. Thou wilt find the address with Emil."

He turned to the door; Kranitski held him by the hand, however,
and looked into his face with eyes which were mist-covered.

"Then it has come to this; for long years! It may be forever!"

"Well, well! See, thou art growing tender," began Maryan, but he
stopped, and over his rosy face passed something like a shade of
feeling.

"Well, my old man, embrace me!"

And when Kranitski had held him long in his arms, he said:

"La! La! leave regrets! Some ancient poet has told us that man is
a shadow that is dreaming of shadows. We have been dreaming, my
good friend-.The only cure is to jest at every thing, come what
may!"

With these words, Maryan went to the anteroom and put on his
overcoat; meanwhile, the baron said:

"That cannot have come from Meissen, nor be of the year 1709.
That is much more recent. It comes from the Ilmenau factory--"

"How so? Say rather that it comes from Pr