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"I have already introduced myself to Lisaveta Mihalovna," interposed Lavretsky. "Monsier Panshin... Sergei Petrovitch Gedeonovsky... Please sit down. When I look at you, I can hardly believe my eyes. How are you?" "As you see, I'm flourishing. And you, too, cousin no ill-luck to you! have grown no thinner in eight years." "To think how long it is since we met!" observed Marya Dmitrievna dreamily.
"And Marfa Timofyevna," observed Shurotchka. "And Nastasya Karpovna," added Lenotchka, "and Monsier Lemm." "What? is Lemm dead?" inquired Lavretsky. "Yes," replied young Kalitin, "he left here for Odessa; they say some one enticed him there; and there he died." "You don't happen to know,... did he leave any music?" "I don't know; not very likely." All were silent and looked about them.
Monsier de Saint-Juéry would not have deceived his old mistress for anything in the world: perhaps from an instinctive fear that he had heard of adventures that turn out badly, make a noise, and bring about hateful family quarrels, crises from which one emerges enervated and exasperated with destiny, and, as it were, with the weight of a bullet on one's feet, and also from his requirement for a calm, sheep-like existence, whose monotony was never disturbed by any shock, and perhaps from the remains of the love which had so entirely made him, during the first years of their connection, the slave of the proud, dominating beauty, and of the enthralling charm of that woman.
I immediately ordered a bottle of Burgundy, and filling the large goblet before him, said, with much respect, "A votre bonne voyage, Monsier le Courier." To this he at once replied, by taking off his cap and bowing politely as he drank off the wine. "Have we any runaway felon or a stray galerien among us?" said I, laughingly, "that they are going to search us?"
I accordingly approached the place where the nasal sounds seemed to issue from, and soon reached the post of a bed. I waited for an instant, and then began, "Monsier, voulez vous bien me permettre "
Sir Francis Courtwell. Sir Fr. That's my name, Sir. De. And myne Mounsieur Device. Sir Fr. A Frenchman Sir? De. No, sir; an English Monsier made up by a Scotch taylor that was prentice in France. I shall write my greatest ambition satisfied if you please to lay your Comands upon mee. Sir Fr.
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