Satan's Diary. Леонид Андреев

interest me more, Signor Magnus.”

      He gazed at me intently with his dark eyes and lowering his voice said dryly and with apparent reluctance:

      “Just two words about people, Mr. Wondergood. You will soon see my daughter, Maria. She is my three billions. You understand?”

      I nodded my head in approval.

      “But your California does not produce such gold. Neither does any other country on this dirty earth. It is the gold of the heavens. I am not a believer, Mr. Wondergood, but even I experience some doubts when I meet the gaze of my Maria. Hers are the only hands into which you might without the slightest misgiving place your billions——”

      I am an old bachelor and I was overcome with fear, but Magnus continued sternly with a ring of triumph in his voice:

      “But she will not accept them, Sir! Her gentle hands must never touch this golden dirt. Her clean eyes will never behold any sight but that of this endless, godless Campagna. Here is her monastery, Mr. Wondergood, and there is but one exit for her from here: into the Kingdom of Heaven, if it does exist!”

      “I beg your pardon but I cannot understand this, my dear Magnus!” I protested in great joy. “Life and people——”

      The face of Thomas Magnus grew angry, as it did yesterday, and in stern ridicule, he interrupted me:

      “And I beg you to grasp, dear Wondergood, that life and people are not for Maria. It is enough that I know them. My duty was to warn you. And now”—he again assumed the attitude of cold politeness—“I ask you to come to my table. You too, Mr. Toppi!”

      We had begun to eat, and were chattering of small matters, when Maria entered. The door through which she entered was behind my back. I mistook her soft step for those of the maid carrying the dishes, but I was astonished by the long-nosed Toppi, sitting opposite me. His eyes grew round like circles, his face red, as if he were choking. His Adam’s apple seemed to be lifted above his neck as if driven by a wave, and to disappear again somewhere behind his narrow, ministerial collar. Of course, I thought he was choking to death with a fishbone and shouted:

      “Toppi! What is the matter with you? Take some water.”

      But Magnus was already on his feet, announcing coldly:

      “My daughter, Maria. Mr. Henry Wondergood!”