gs yet. By a wonderful chance
the baron had not been there, but when he thought of America
Rimbaud's verses occurred to him. He rose, and, walking through
the chamber, gave the following:

"Divine vibration of green seas,

The peace of fields spotted with animals;

Silences traversed by worlds, by angels."

"And by millions!" called Maryan from the foot of the white monk
Alberich.

He took his shoulders from the monk's robe, and added:

"Nowhere are there such colossal fortunes, and such powerful
means of getting them, as on those fields spotted with animals."

And all at once, as it were, the desiccating interior of his
heart became animated, he rose and began to walk quickly through
the chamber, passed the slowly walking baron, and said:

"It is an idea! One must dwell on it. I must go there, or
somewhere else--do something with myself. I am driven from this
place by one of the greatest disappointments which I have ever
known. I reached the bottom of disenchantments yesterday. That is
why I did not come to look at the Overbeck. I was buried. My last
painted pot burst. I was disappointed in a man for whom I had
felt something like honor."

He spoke English. The baron asked him in English also:

"What has happened?"

And Kranitski, with a little worse accent in the same language,
repeated the question a number of times.

Maryan, continuing to walk through the chamber, narrated the
conversation with his father and the ultimatum given him. The
baron laughed noiselessly, and inquired; Kranitski gave out cries
of indignation. Maryan, with a fiery face and feverish movement,
added:

"I had thought that man worthy of my admiration. Logical,
consequent, unconquerable, formed of one piece. A magnificent
monolith. No sentiments, no prejudices. Permitting no one to
disturb the development of his individuality. I understood that
his method of rearing me, and then pushing me to the highest
spheres of life, pointed to this, that I was to live for his
honor. I was to be one of the columns of that temple which he had
raised to his own glory. But just that absoluteness with which he
used everything for his own purposes roused in me homage. The
power of producing was in him equal to his power of egotism. So
must it be with every individuality fashioned by nature not on a
model, but originally. I did not know him much, and desired a
nearer acquaintance. I was certain that we should understand each
other perfectly; tha