“I—a fool?”
“Who is the person you took away from me—whom you pressed to your heart?”
“Couldn't you guess? Why your pearl of pearls with which you bored your wife and me to death—nothing else.”
Hereupon he drew from his breast pocket the worn manuscript of the new science. There was a burst of laughter and the professor made a grab for the manuscript.
“Well—I seem to be the fool myself.”
He took the manuscript and flung it far out of the pavilion.
“I will not attempt again to analyze the beauties of life.”
Four glasses, foaming with the fine wine of Crimea, rang merrily together.
The next evening I was again on ship deck. From the friendly green garden, and the flower-covered villas, the light gradually faded, and day grew dim upon the fantastic mountains of stone that rose behind charming Ialta. At last land disappeared, too, and night came down.
Farewell, beautiful Ialta!
