that they would come again in an
hour. To each other they said that they would go to see the
Nazarene--"

"What Nazarene?" asked Kranitski, with astonishment. "What
Nazarene?"

"But how should I know what Nazarene? It may be an image of the
Lord Jesus of Nazareth. They only said that they would go to look
at it, and come back here."

"Come back," repeated Kranitski, "that is well. We shall have a
talk--it is so long since I have had a talk with anyone--and I
shall see Maryan, the dear, dear boy!"

Kranitski rubbed his hands; he walked with springy step, and
erect shoulders, through the little drawing-room, but not even
delight could round his cheeks, which had dropped during recent
days somewhat; neither could it freshen the yellow tint on them.
Mother Clemens halted in the middle of the room and followed him
with her two pair of eyes.

"See, my lords! He is as if born again, as if called back to
life!"

He stopped confused before her.

"Knowest what? Let mother run for a pate de foie gras, and a
bottle of liqueur."

Mother Clemens dropped back to the wall.

"Jesus of Nazareth! Hast thou gone mad, Tulek? Berek
Shyldman--thy furniture--"

"What do I care for Berek Shyldman! What do I care for
furniture!" cried Kranitski, "when those noble hearts remember
me--"

"Hearts have no stomachs; there is no need of stuffing something
into them the first minute."

"What does mother know? Mother is an honest woman, but her level
is earth to earth--she only thinks of this cursed money!"

"But is pate de foie gras holy? Arabian adventure!"

Both voices were raised somewhat. Kranitski threw himself on the
sofa, pressed his right side with his palm, groaned.

Then Clemens turned her face toward him; she had grown mild and
seemed frightened.

"Well, has pain caught thee?"

It was clear that he was suffering. An old affliction of the
liver, and something of the heart in addition. Mother Clemens
approached the sofa in her clattering overshoes.

"Well, do not excite thyself. What is to be done? How much money
will that Arabian pate cost?"

"And the liqueur!" put in Kranitski.

When he had grown calm he explained that the baron was fond of
liqueur, and that Maryan was wild for pate and black coffee.

"Let mother prepare black coffee--thou knowest how to do it
perfectly."

"What more!" snorted she. "Perhaps it would be well to take the
panes from the windows, and throw the stove down?"

Kranitski spread o