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Updated: June 3, 2025
Kollomietzev asked; the polite tone was intended to soothe Sipiagin, who sat very uneasily on his chair. "Because in twenty or thirty years your landed gentry won't be here in any case." "What makes you think so?" "Because by that time the land will fall into the hands of people in no way distinguished by their origin." "Do you mean the merchants?" "For the most part probably the merchants."
"You have an awful name like that and get insulted when people change it for you so here you are then! Take your fill of it! Mr. Paklin! Paklin!" The unfortunate name rang out clearly in the cool morning air. It was so keen as to make Kollomietzev, who came out after Sipiagin, exclaim several times in French... "Brrr! brrr! brrr!"
"I am a guest in the house in which he serves," Kollomietzev exclaimed, "yes, serves for money, comme un salarie.... Consequently I am his superior.... He ought to bow to me first." "My dear Kollomietzev, you are very particular," Sipiagin put in, laying special stress on the word dear. "I thought, if you'll forgive my saying so, that we had outgrown all that.
Solomin." Solomin continued smiling. "What makes you think so, Mr. Kolomentzev?" "Then please explain what you meant just now!" "With pleasure. I think that every bureaucrat is an outsider and was always such. The nobility have now become 'outsiders." Kollomietzev laughed louder than ever. "But, my dear sir, I really don't understand what you mean!" "So much the worse for you.
"How dare you express yourself like that of a man who is respected by such people as Prince Blasenkramf and Prince Kovrishkin!" Nejdanov shrugged his shoulders. "A very nice recommendation! Prince Kovrishkin, that enthusiastic flunky " "Ladislas is my friend," Kollomietzev screamed, "my comrade and I " "So much the worse for you," Nejdanov interrupted him.
IT was already ten o'clock in the evening; in the drawing-room of the Arjanov house Sipiagin, his wife, and Kollomietzev were sitting over a game at cards when a footman entered and announced that an unknown gentleman, a certain Mr. Paklin, wished to see Boris Andraevitch upon a very urgent business. "So late!" Valentina Mihailovna exclaimed, surprised. "What?"
Kollomietzev would not hear of this, and began to relate, in the same tearful voice, how the late prince had loved him and what a beautiful gun he had given him! Having spent himself somewhat and got rather irritable, he at last turned from foreign Jacobins to home-bred nihilists and socialists, and ended by flying into a passion.
Will march with a t-torch! Well, the emancipation is now an established fact, but where is the peasant with the torch? "Tveritinov was only slightly wrong," Kollomietzev said solemnly. "Not the peasants will march with the torch, but others."
"H'm.... No doubt some beggar or intriguer." "Or both," Kollomietzev chimed in. "Very likely. Ask him into my study." Boris Andraevitch got up. "Pardon, ma bonne. Have a game of ecarte till I come back, unless you would like to wait for me. I won't be long." "Nous causerons... Allez!" Kollomietzev said.
Mariana looked at Valentina Mihailovna, at her wonderful eyes, her slightly painted lips, at her white hands, the parted fingers adorned with rings, which the elegant lady so energetically pressed against the bodice of her silk dress. Suddenly she interrupted her. "Did you say a match, Valentina Mihailovna? Do you call that heartless, vulgar friend of yours, Mr. Kollomietzev, 'a match?"
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