aimed Darvid, "but iron
labor."

"Such toilers as you are the knights of the contemporary world,"
answered the prince, with vivacity; "the Du Guesclins and Cids of
the present century."

He rose and, while pressing the hand of that Cid, fixed again in
his memory the date of the hunt, which was not distant. Prince
Zeno was an aristocrat of the purest blood, possessing a wide
popularity which was fairly well deserved.

Darvid was radiant. While accompanying the prince to the door of
the antechamber he looked as if no coil of serpents had ever
crawled up in his bosom, which was now beating with delight and
with pride. The prince halted still a moment at the door, as if
to recall something.

"Pardon me an indiscreet question, but this interests me
immensely. Is there truth in the reports which are circulating in
the city, that Baron Blauendorf is to have the honor in the near
future of receiving the hand of your elder daughter?"

The expression of Darvid's face changed quickly, it became sharp
and severe.

"Were there any truth in the report," answered he, "I should try
to destroy it together with the report."

"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."

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. Darvid stood at the round table sunk in thought,
with pins of irony in his smile and his eyes, with a cloud of
wrinkles between his brows. That young sculptor, the favorite of
Prince Zeno, with clothing almost in tatters, brought consumption
on himself unhindered, till a parvenu appeared with his money-bag
and rescued the pocket of the aristocrat, receiving in return a
visit and an invitation to hunt. "Behold the significance of
money! Almost infinite power--ha! ha! ha!"

Internal laughter bore him away, and in his brain sounded the
word: "Wretchedness! Wretchedness!"

What was it specially that he called wretchedness? He was not
clearly conscious himself of this, but the feeling of it
penetrated him. Again he heard the prince say