Kranitski made a wry face in the cathedra, and muttered:
"No, no. What horror! I will never agree to that phrase."
But no one heard this quiet protest. Now the baron in his turn, walking more and more quickly through the room, spoke on.
Maryan remained sitting on the Louis XI box while the baron walked and complained of the narrowness of relations and the low level of civilization in the city:
"This is the real fatherland of darned socks. Everything here has the mustiness of locked up store-houses. There is a lack of room and ventilation. In England William Morris, a great poet, establishes a factory for objects pertaining to art, and makes millions. I beg you to show anything similar in this place. Darvid has made a colossal fortune only because he was not blind, and did not hold on to his father's fence. Nationality and fa-ther-land, each is a darned sock—one of those labels which men with parti-colored clothes paste on a gate before which diggers are standing. One must escape from this position. One must know how to will."
The baron said, that as soon as he could bring certain plans of his to completion and regulate certain property interests, and even before regulating them, he would occupy himself with completing his new plan. He turned to Maryan:
"Will you be my partner? It would be difficult for me to get on without you. You have an excellent feeling for art—you are subtle—"
"Why not," answered Maryan. "But one should go first of all and examine the field; one should go to America before the exhibition."
"Naturally, before the exhibition, so as to begin action before it is over. In the question of capital—"
"I will sell my personal property, which has some value, and incur another debt," said Maryan, carelessly.