“See that chubby face there! Once it learned to go around the earth, it was sure of its art. Oh, to have one moment like that in one’s life!”
Marynia began to laugh, and, raising her eyes unwittingly in the direction of Svirski’s hand, said,—
“Do not complain. It is not merely artists who are not free to stop; whether we work on a picture, or on ourselves, it is all one, we must work every hour, otherwise life is injured.”
“There is immense need of work,” interrupted Plavitski, with a sigh.
But Marynia continued, seeking a comparison with some effort, and raising her brows at the same time,—
“And you see, if any man were to say to himself, even for a moment, ‘I am wise enough, and good enough,’ that very saying would be neither good nor wise. Now it seems to me that we are all swimming across some deep place to a better shore; but whoso just wishes to rest and stops moving his hands, is drawn to the bottom by his own weight.”
“Phrases!” exclaimed Pan Stanislav, on a sudden.
But she, pleased with the aptness of her comparison, answered,—
“No, Stas, as I love thee, they are not phrases.”
“If God would grant me to hear such things always,” said Svirski, with animation. “The lady is perfectly right.”