"Do you know what, little one, you must show yourself in society."
Here Maryan muttered in an undertone:
"He needs a new column in his temple."
Irene smiled. Malvina feigned not to hear; Cara, given up to her twittering, twittered on:
"Then father said that mamma and Ira were leading almost the life of a cloister, that they received few persons, and went out little. That had the appearance of domestic misfortune, or of bankruptcy. Such an appearance was ugly in general, and harmful to business. To avoid this there was need to arrange a reception, but grand, and as splendid as possible. The carnival would be over soon, and at the end of the carnival we would give a ball in which the 'little one 'would appear in society for the first time. Today, an hour ago, father said he would come to us at dinner, and would talk at length about this ball with mamma."
Here Cara finished the narrative which was somewhat of a dramatic representation. Maryan rose suddenly from his seat.
"I must go," said he, standing rigidly, and with a serious face.
"Stay, Maryan," said Malvina, in a low voice.
On her face was a look of pain; a deep wrinkle appeared on her forehead; her voice was imploring. Maryan looked at her, hesitated a while, then dropping into an armchair with the movement of an automaton, muttered:
"Let thy will be done! Let a pot be painted with the color of a son's love—for you, mother."