"Young Darvid. The son of the great financier. How young! He is a child."

"A man with millions ripens quickly, like a peach in sunlight."

"What language are they speaking? I cannot hear, but it is not French."

"Italian; she is Italian."

"But he chatters in that language as if he were her compatriot."

"Millions are like the tongues at Pentecost," said the man who had mentioned peaches, "whoever is touched by them speaks every language on earth right away."

All the pa.s.sengers had vanished in the cars, the doors of which were fastened now with loud clinking. This time the opera singer stepped forward quickly, but young Darvid spoke a few words which brought to her face astonishment and the most beautiful smile in the world; she nodded, agreed to something, gave thanks for something in the same way that kindly queens consent to receive marks of the highest honor from their subjects.

In the crowd surrounding Darvid someone laughed:

"Ah, he is a stunning fellow! he will not let her go!"

"How handsome he is, that young Darvid!" said a woman.

"He looks like a young prince," added another.

"But what will come of this? She will not go."

"She will go!"

"She will not go!"

"I will bet!"

"I will bet!"

In a moment a number of bets were made behind Darvid as to whether the woman, who was talking to his son, would go from the city that day or not. On his thin lips a smile of satisfaction appeared, the eyes from behind his gla.s.ses looked at his son with an expression which was almost mild. A young prince! Yes, that is true. What freedom of manner, what grace! What fine disregard for the common throng gazing at him! Triumphant even with women! That woman, famous throughout Europe, is simply devouring him with those black eyes of hers.

The bell was heard on the platform for the third time, and at the same moment a prolonged whistle pierced the air. The wheels of the train began to turn with a slow, measured movement.

"It is over!" cried someone in the crowd. "She has not gone!"

"I have lost the bet!" said a number of voices.

"How splendid that that handsome youth has carried his point,"

said a woman.

Meanwhile, from the remotest end of the platform, new whistling of a locomotive came up, and the measured beat of wheels on the rails was heard; at some distance a certain black ma.s.s appeared, it pushed forward faster and faster, until under the smoke came out clearly the cylinder of a locomotive, drawing behind it a short row of wagons. This was the train, and small, fresh, elegant. This train glittered in the sunlight with its yellow bra.s.s fittings, gleamed in its sapphire-colored varnish. Its rich interior, with cushions of purple velvet, was visible through the windows. A conductor opened the door of a car and stood near it in an expectant position. Maryan, with a motion of request, indicated it to the celebrated singer.

Now the people standing on the platform understood everything, and fell into enthusiasm. The spirit, which rose to that plan and threw out a large sum of money for the sake of it, struck the imagination and roused the sympathy of people inclined to gold and strange acts, without reference to their object or value. On the platform was heard the sharp clapping of some tens of hands, and soon after the locomotive whistled once more, and that small, special train pushed forward into s.p.a.ce, only five minutes later than the regular train which preceded it.

Darvid stood near the door of the station whence he could see his son, who pa.s.sed with slow step along a part of the platform. 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. When a moment before applause was heard on the platform, he looked around and cast on the hand-clapping crowd a pa.s.sing glance, as indifferent as if they were an object not worthy of contempt, even. Now, too, his whole person expressed perfect indifference, nay, even annoyance, which contracted his lips, and yellowed the rosiness of his round cheeks somewhat. In his blue eyes, fixed gla.s.sily on the distance, was depicted something like dissatisfaction, or a feeling of disappointment, a dreaming, or a pondering in vain over deceitful visions which pa.s.s over s.p.a.ce, but which no one can seize upon. He did not see his father, for his gla.s.sy eyes were looking far away at some point. Even the baron did not see Darvid; he was searching for something in his pocketbook carefully, till he took out a ten-rouble note and threw it at the porters who had borne in the baggage and flowers of the primadonna. At the same time he cast these words through his teeth at them:

"I have no small money!"

Maryan, without rousing himself from thought, said, as if mechanically:

"It is wonderful!"

"What?" asked the baron.

"That everything in the world is so little, so little."

"Except my appet.i.te, which is immense at this moment," cried the baron.

"But those fabulous sums which Maryan must expend!" thought Darvid going to his carriage; before he reached it he heard other s.n.a.t.c.hes of conversation:

"To throw away so much money for a few moments' talk with a beautiful woman--that is a character!"

"It promises trouble, does it not?"

"Especially for papa."

"He has as many debts, no doubt, as curly hairs on his head."

"He borrows, of course, on the security of papa's pocket."

"Or his death."

Others said:

"In such hands ill-gotten gains will go to the devil quickly."

"Why ill-gotten gains?"

"Well, can you imagine Saint Francis of a.s.sisi making millions?"

While his carriage was rolling along the streets of the city, Darvid's head was full of conflicting ideas. True, true; that green youth had a special capacity for devouring the golden sands of Pactolus! But in what a charming and princely fashion he did that! Darvid was proud of his son, and at the same time greatly dismayed and troubled; for this could not last. That lad was making debts in view of--his father's death. And this absolute idleness! What good was a man who did nothing? The results also of idleness were evident in him: a certain premature withering, a certain dreaming without object--a handsome fellow! He looked as if born to a princely coronet. As Darvid was ascending the marble steps of his mansion he said to the Swiss:

"When Pan Maryan comes home say that I request him to come to me."

Darvid pa.s.sed an hour or more in his study, alone, over papers, writing, taking notes, examining various accounts, and letters; but over his face, from time to time, ran a disagreeable quiver, and the nervous movements of his hand caused sheets of paper to rustle unpleasantly. At last the door of the antechamber opened and Maryan appeared, hat in hand.

"Good-day, my father," began he on entering. "I am glad that you invited me, for it is long since I have had the pleasure of talking with you. We both have been greatly occupied. For some weeks Bianca Biannetti has taken all my time."

He was perfectly unconstrained, though not at all gladsome in his manner. Darvid, standing at the round table, looked at his son quickly.

"Are you in love with that singer?" asked he.

Only then did Maryan laugh unaffectedly, almost loudly.

"What a question, my father; love is a sanctuary, built on a poppy-seed; love then is sacred; while my fancy for that beautiful Bianca--"