d to him with a brief "Bon jour!" and turned to the
organ. Sitting at the organ he threw these words over his arm:

"We expect Maryan at lunch."

"But she?" inquired Kranitski from the depth of the long and high
arms of the cathedra.

"She will finish her toilet and go."

Then he played the Bach fugue. He played, and Kranitski, sank in
the chair, listened and grew sadder and sadder. During recent
days he had grown evidently old; he had become thin; wrinkles had
appeared on his forehead. His person had lost elasticity and
self-confidence, lie looked like a man who had received a heavy
blow, but he was, as always, dressed carefully, the odor of
perfumes was around him, and a colored handkerchief appeared in
his coat pocket. In presence of the baron's music he grew sad and
then sadder. That music made the place more and more church-like.
The figures of saints on the shade under the golden haloes seemed
to melt in profound adoration. The "Triumph of Death" spread its
wings on the background of subdued colors in the chamber; in that
atmosphere the organ and silence sang a majestic duet. Kranitski
began to feel the tone of mind mightily. His shoulders bent
forward mechanically; he took out of his pocket the gold
cigarette case, and thought, while turning it in his fingers:

"Everything passes! Everything is behind me--love and the rest!
The grave swallows all things. The days fly, like dust, fly into
the past--into eternity! Eternity! the enigma."

All at once into the duet, sung by the organ and silence, broke
the loud rattle of a door, then the rustle of silk skirts, till
there had shot through the dining-room, and halted in the door of
the drawing-room, a creature who was pretty, not large,
excessively noisy, and active of body. She had a short skirt,
small feet, a fur-lined cape of the latest style, and a gigantic
hat which shaded a small, dark, thin, wilted face, with eyes
burning like candles and hair gleaming like Venetian gold. The
silk, the sable, the incredibly long ostrich feathers, the
diamonds in her ears, and the loud burst of laughter cut through
the music of Bach like a silver saw.

"Eh bien, ne veus-tu pas me dire bon jour, toi, grand beta?
Tiens, voila!" (Well, wilt thou not say good-day to me, thou
great beast? Here it is!) With the expression voila! was heard a
loud kiss, impressed on the check of the baron, then Lili Kerth,
the gleaming of silk, diamonds, eyes, and hair turned toward the
door o