d by
a tiny, youthful moustache. Besides, the perfect elegance of
manner, the aestheticism and irreproachable grace in movements,
in voice, in compliments, the utterance of which he rounded very
beautifully.

Darvid was astounded. He had found no time in his life to observe
the new directions which thought and character were taking in the
world; nor for observing the changed forms in which time moulds
the various generations of mankind. He was dumbfounded,
speechless, and only after a while did an ironical smile appear
on his lips--that lad with his theories was absurd!

"All that you have said is simply ridiculous. You are making a
principle out of a thorough absence of principles. At your age
such opinions and such coolness are incredible. At your age,
which is almost that of a child, and with your scant training,
they are, out and out, ridiculous."

Maryan, with a quick movement, raised his head and looked with
astonishment at his father. He, too, had expected something
entirely different.

"Ridiculous!" cried he; "what does this mean, father? This is not
argument. I felt sure that we should agree perfectly. With the
profoundest astonishment I see that this is not the case. How is
it, my father, then, you do not take up the motto: each for
himself, and in his own way? Still, it is impossible for any man
to carry contempt for all painted pots farther than you do; than
you have carried it all your life. But, perhaps, this difference
in our opinions is only apparent? I beg you to give me argument.
The charge of ridiculousness is not argument. I may be
ridiculous, and be right. A lack of principles? Very well;
principles form one of the most brightly painted of all pots,
and, therefore, it is most difficult to see the clay. But, never
mind; I ask for a closer description. What principles do you
value, father?"

Darvid, with a strong quiver in his face, answered:

"What? Oh, moral. Naturally, moral principles--"

"Yes, yes, but I ask for an accurate definition. What are they
called; what are the names of those principles?"

Darvid was silent. What are they called? Was he a priest, or a
governess, to break his head over such questions? If it were a
question of law, mathematics, architecture, guilds, banks--but he
had never occupied himself with morals; he had not had the time.
A deep anger began to possess him, and his words hissed somewhat
through his lips; when, after some silence, he added:

"My dear, you