"I know not, dear baron; indeed, I can do nothing, for to tell—for I—" A number of drops of perspiration came out on his forehead, and he added, with difficulty:
"It seems that Panna Irene—"
"Panna Irene," interrupted the baron, without noticing Kranitski's emotion, "is a sonnet from Baudelaire's Les fleurs du mal (The flowers of evil). There is in her something undefined, something contradictory—"
Kranitski made a quick movement.
"My baron—"
"But do you not understand me, dear Pan Arthur? I have no intention of speaking ill of Panna Irene. In my mouth the epithets which I have used are the highest praise. Panna Irene is interesting precisely for this reason, that she is indefinite and complicated. She is a disenchanted woman. She possesses that universal irony which is the stamp of higher natures. Oh, Panna Irene is not a violet unless from the hot-house of Baudelaire! But, just for that reason she rouses curiosity, irritates, une desabusee—une vierge desabusee. Do you understand? There is in this the odor of mystery—a new quiver. But with natures of this sort nothing can ever be certain—"
"Hers is a noble nature!" cried Kranitski, with enthusiasm.
"You divide natures into noble and not noble," said the baron, with a smile; "but I, into annoying and interesting."
Beyond the door the loud voice of Maryan was heard:
"Emil, I will leave you and go to Tron-tron's. I will tell Lili
Kerth that you remained for the night to nurse a sick friend."