d:
"My little one." But immediately after he rubbed his eyes, and
smiled. It was a picture by Greuze! There were two of them: one
almost invisible in the shade; the other that one emerging from
the shade into a half light in such fashion that the head of the
maiden seemed to stand out from, the canvas as it were suspended.

"It is like Cara; very like her. The same type--the very same
lips, hair, and forehead--"

He knew that that was a painted face; still, with his head on the
pillow, he raised his eyes to it frequently, and as often as he
raised them he saw a loving smile on the rosy lips and the
distinct movement of the eyes which seemed to call and invite
him.

He thought that he was ill, unnerved; that he must summon in
physicians. Next morning Darvid heard, in the study of a famous
doctor, that his nerves were unstrung remarkably; suffering from
a blow which had struck him--over-work. He had toiled beyond
measure. There was only one cure: complete and long rest. A
journey abroad. A change of impressions, after hard and special
toil; life in the midst of splendid scenery and works of art.

Meditating afterward on this advice of the doctor, he thought
that he had not the slightest wish to follow it. Neither nature
nor art attracted him in any way. During his whole life he had
not had the time for them, and it was too late now for new
studies. Why was he to undertake a journey if not for that
purpose? He had travelled much in his lifetime, but always on
business, and with a clearly defined object; without business and
an object, travelling through the world seemed to him exactly
like that walking in the night through his empty, lighted
mansion; something akin to madness.

What then? Days passed again in toil, amidst consultations and
reckonings. The arranging of balances and reports--the round body
rolled on by the power of impetus. At appointed hours he received
visits. He received also Prince Zeno, who came to take farewell
of him for many months, till the following winter.

"We are scattering, all of us," said the prince. "Like birds in
autumn we are flying to places where the sun shines most
beautifully. You, too, will go, of course. Whither? To the South
or the East? Perhaps to that estate where your wife and daughter
are passing the sad time of family mourning? But apropos of the
country. You know that poor Kranitski; well, he came to take
farewell of me. He has left the city; left it never to come ba