“On the contrary, you are.”
“If I am, then, I declare that knowledge embraces a greater number of details, but does not prevent a love of great art; and believe not Pan Stanislav, but me.”
“No; I prefer to believe him.”
Marynia looked now at one, now at the other, with a somewhat anxious face. Meanwhile Plavitski came with cards. The betrothed walked through the rooms hand in hand; Bukatski began to be wearied, and grew more and more so. Toward the end of the evening the humor which animated him died out; his small face became still smaller, his nose sharper, and he looked like a dried leaf. When he went out with Pan Stanislav, the latter inquired,—
“Somehow thou wert not so vivacious?”
“I am like a machine: while I have fuel within, I move; but in the evening, when the morning supply is exhausted, I stop.”
Pan Stanislav looked at him carefully. “What is thy fuel?”
“There are various kinds of coal. Come to me: I will give thee a cup of good coffee; that will enliven us.”
“Listen! this is a delicate question, but some one told me that thou hast been taking morphine this long time.”