latrous love of him. People looked, and wondered how
such a great river of gold could flow through a creature so small
and insignificant. With Maryan it was different. He astonished
also, but he roused general sympathy. Such a child! And such a
perfectly beautiful fellow at the same time! He was not twenty
three years of age yet; of fine stature; his manners were elegant
and pleasing; he had the head of a cherub, with bright curling
locks; a noble fresh face from which gazed eyes as blue as
turquoise; and wise, too wise, perhaps, in so youthful a
countenance, for these eyes seemed not to confide but to jeer, or
to be wearied and seeking something through the world without
finding it. Women whispered into one another's ears that that
lad, when in England, had joined the Salvation Army; but after he
had remained a short time in its ranks, he became, in Paris, a
member of the Hashish Club, and brought away the habit of using
narcotics to rouse dreams in himself and unusual conditions. If
the city at that moment had temporary possession of Bianca
Bianetti it was thanks to that lad, who, in a remote land, had
won the heart of the singer. Some insisted that he had spent
fabulous sums on her; others contradicted, declaring that not
Bianca, the singer, had consumed them, but Aurora, that noted
Amazon of the circus, for whose favor princes of blood royal had
striven in various capitals. That shapely little nabob had come,
seen, and conquered; and when he had got his prize at an
incredible outlay, he threw it aside and brought home Bianca. But
is that all that may be told of him? He and Baron Emil are
fountains of histories of this sort. The baron is considerably
older, but this lad has a father. That father himself is a source
of unbounded credit. Young Darvid has as many debts as there are
golden curls on that cherub head of his. What will his papa say?
What? Not long since that papa returned from the ends of the
earth, after a long absence; will he put an end to the tricks of
the boy? will he be able to do so? The white forehead of the
youth has an expression of maturity, and at times of something
else--namely, weariness--and in his blue eyes gleams of firmness,
resolve, and contempt. He looks as if he despised the whole world
then. He and the baron occupy themselves much with art and
literature. They expend almost as much on art as on women and
joyous suppers. They are highly cultured. The baron plays like an
artist; Maryan