Darvid stood near the door of the station whence he could see his son, who passed with slow step along a part of the platform. And he looked at him with unquiet curiosity, for something unexpected in Maryan astonished him. In contradiction to what one might expect, and which seemed natural, there was not in the expression of face and the movements of. Maryan either the pleasure of youth at something accomplished, or sorrow at the departure of the woman, for whom he had accomplished it. When a moment before applause was heard on the platform, he looked around and cast on the hand-clapping crowd a passing glance, as indifferent as if they were an object not worthy of contempt, even. Now, too, his whole person expressed perfect indifference, nay, even annoyance, which contracted his lips, and yellowed the rosiness of his round cheeks somewhat. In his blue eyes, fixed glassily on the distance, was depicted something like dissatisfaction, or a feeling of disappointment, a dreaming, or a pondering in vain over deceitful visions which pass over space, but which no one can seize upon. He did not see his father, for his glassy eyes were looking far away at some point. Even the baron did not see Darvid; he was searching for something in his pocketbook carefully, till he took out a ten-rouble note and threw it at the porters who had borne in the baggage and flowers of the primadonna. At the same time he cast these words through his teeth at them:
"I have no small money!"
Maryan, without rousing himself from thought, said, as if mechanically:
"It is wonderful!"
"What?" asked the baron.
"That everything in the world is so little, so little."
"Except my appetite, which is immense at this moment," cried the baron.
"But those fabulous sums which Maryan must expend!" thought Darvid going to his carriage; before he reached it he heard other snatches of conversation:
"To throw away so much money for a few moments' talk with a beautiful woman—that is a character!"
"It promises trouble, does it not?"