But Mary an rose from his armchair, and broke in:
"As for me, I respect individuality; and since that of our beloved Pan Arthur is developed in his way, we have no right to insist on attacking him with ridicule. To be ridiculous proves nothing. 'Thou art ridiculous,' is no argument. I may be ridiculous in the eyes of another man, though right in my own. But a truce to discussion; I remind thee, Emil, of our porcelain—"
"Yes, yes!" replied the baron, and he rose also. "We must take farewell of our beloved friend here—"
At that moment, through the open door of the sleeping-room, entered Mother Clemens with a great tray. Since she had gratified her favorite she wished to do it in the best manner possible. On her head was a cap as white as snow; the clattering overshoes were no longer on her feet; and a checkered kerchief was arranged neatly, even with elegance, across her bosom. On the tray were small glasses, a bottle of liqueur, a pate de foie gras, and three cups from which rose the excellent odor of coffee. All this she placed on a table before the sofa, and left the little drawing-room with gloomy eye, but firm foot.
Kranitski sprang up from the sofa.
"My dearest friends, I beg you—take a glass of liqueur, that which thou lovest, baron—Maryan, a little of the pate de foie gras—"
But they touched their watches simultaneously.
"No, no!" began the baron, refusing, "we have only three minutes left."
"We lunched at Borel's, who, as my father says, gives us Lucullus feasts."
Kranitski did not cease to urge them. Certain habits or instincts of a noble brightened his eyes, and shaped his arms in gestures of entreaty. But they resisted. In five minutes they must be in that apparently wretched antiquarian shop, where Maryan had discovered the amazing porcelain. The baron, giving his hand to Kranitski in parting, said: