r furniture; still, farther, a great mirror reflects
two clusters of lights, beneath which hang crystal pendants, and,
increasing the perspective, made the space still greater, and the
light more peculiar; in another place, from behind bluish folds
depending from a door, appears a vase of Chinese porcelain; and,
at that moment, it assumes, in Darvid's eyes, a strange
appearance. Large, covered with blue decorations, it has a form
which is swollen in the middle, but slender above, with a long
neck, and not altogether visible; it seems to lean forward from
behind the curtains, gaze at the passing man, follow his steps,
and laugh at him. Yes, the Chinese vase is laughing--its body
seems to swell more and more from laughter, and in the blue
painting the white background has, here and there, a deceptive
similarity to grinning teeth. Darvid strives not to look at the
vase, and hastens on; behind him Puffie's shaggy feet tread the
floor more hurriedly, but as he returns, the porcelain monster
thrusts out its long neck again from behind the curtain, jeers,
bares its teeth, and seems ready to burst from laughter. At the
opposite side of that drawing-room, on a blue background, is the
pale face of an old man, and from above a gray beard the sad and
inquisitive eyes of the patriarch are settled on Darvid.

What does all this mean? Darvid halted in the centre of one of
the drawing-rooms, right there behind him the bundle of raw silk
halted also, and stood on its shaggy paws. What was he doing in
those empty drawing-rooms; why had he commanded to light them?
This act seems like madness. He called to mind recent acts of an
insane king, who, in a brilliantly lighted edifice, listened
alone to the rendering of an opera. Is he also becoming insane?
Why is he not at work? He has so much to do! Darvid advanced
quickly, and halted again. The Chinese vase inclined half way
from behind the curtain, it seemed bursting from laughter. Work?
What for? The object? The object? That decides everything! He
turned his glance from the gnashing teeth of the Chinese monster,
and it met the pale face of the patriarch, whose eyes, looking
out at him from the blue background, and from above a gray beard,
said with sadness, and inquiringly: "The wrong road!"

He had lost the road! Only the habit of restraining internal
impulses, and the expression of them, kept him from crying
"Help!" But he had the cry within him, and with a quick and
uneven tread he w