The kind host himself went out to dismiss the chauffeur. Through the window I could see the bright lights of the lanterns of the machine and for a moment I yearned to return home to my pleasant sinners, who were probably imbibing their wine at that moment in expectation of my return.... Ah, I have long since abandoned philanthropy and am now leading the life of a drunkard and a gambler. And again, as on that first night, the quiet little white house, this _soul_ of Maria, looked terrible and suspicious: this revolver, these stains of _blood_ upon the white hands...and, maybe there are more stains like these here.
But it was too late to change my mind. The machine had gone and Magnus, by the light, had not a _blue_, but a very black and beautiful beard and his eyes were smiling pleasantly. In his broad hand he carried not a weapon, but two bottles of wine, and from afar he shouted merrily:
"On a night like this there is but one thing to do, to drink wine. Even Mars, when I spoke to him, looked drunk to me...the rogue! Your glass, Mr. Wondergood!"
But when the glasses had been filled, this merry drunkard hardly touched the wine and sitting deep in his chair asked me to drink and to talk. Without particular enthusiasm, listening to the noise of the wind and thinking about the length of the night before us, I told Magnus of the new and insistent visits of Cardinal X. It seemed to me that the Cardinal had actually put spies on my trail and what is more strange: he has managed to gain quite an influence over the unbribable Toppi. Toppi is still the same devoted friend of mine but he seems to have grown sad, goes to confessional every day and is trying to persuade me to accept Catholicism.
Magnus listened calmly to my story and with still greater reluctance I told him of the many unsuccessful efforts to open my purse: of the endless petitions, badly written, in which the truth appears to be falsehood because of the boresome monotony of tears, bows and naïve flattery; of crazy inventors, of all sorts of people with hasty projects, gentlemen who seek to utilize as quickly as possible their temporary absence from jail--of all this hungry mass of humanity aroused by the smell of _weakly_ protected billions. My secretaries--there are six of them now--hardly manage to handle all this mess of tears on paper, and the madly babbling fools who fill the doors of my palace.