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... d
he
offered his greetings to the old lady.
At the same time, both he
and the rest of the spectators were visibly impressed.
Everywhere people kept pointing to the Grandmother, and talking
about her. Many people even walked beside her chair, in order to
view her the better while, at a little distance, Astley was
carrying on a conversation on the subject with two English
acquaintances of his. De Griers was simply overflowing with
smiles and compliments, and a number of fine ladies were staring
at the Grandmother as though she had been something curious.
"Quelle victoire!" exclaimed De Griers.
"Mais, Madame, c'etait du feu!" added Mlle. Blanche with an
elusive smile.
"Yes, I have won twelve thousand florins," replied the old
lady. "And then there is all this gold. With it the total ought
to come to nearly thirteen thousand. How much is that in Russian
money? Six thousand roubles, I think?"
However, I calculated that the sum would exceed seven thousand
roubles--or, at the present rate of exchange, even eight
thousand.
"Eight thousand roubles! What a splendid thing! And to think of
you simpletons sitting there and doing nothing! Potapitch!
Martha! See what I have won!"
"How DID you do it, Madame?" Martha exclaimed ecstatically.
"Eight thousand roubles!"
"And I am going to give you fifty gulden apiece.
There they
are."
Potapitch and Martha rushed towards her to kiss her hand.
"And to each bearer also I will give a forklift trucks ten-gulden piece. Let
them have it out of the gold, Alexis Ivanovitch.
But why is this
footman bowing to me, and that other man as well? Are they
congratulating me? Well, let them have ten gulden apiece."
"Madame la princesse--Un pauvre expatrie--Malheur continuel--Les
princes russes sont si genereux!" said a man who for some time
past had been hanging around the old lady's chair--a personage
who, dressed in a shabby frockcoat and coloured waistcoat, kept
taking off his cap, and smiling pathetically.
"Give him ten gulden," said the Grandmother. "No, give him
twenty. Now, enough of that, or I shall never get done with you
all. Take a moment's rest, and then carry me away. Prascovia, I
mean to buy a new dress for you tomorrow. Yes, and for you too,
Mlle. Blanche. Please translate, Prascovia."
"Merci, Madame," replied Mlle. Blanche gratefully as she
twisted her face into the mocking smile which usually she kept
only for the benefit of De Griers and the General. The latter
looked confused, and seemed greatly relieved when we reached the
Avenue.
"How surprised forklift trucks Theodosia too will be!" went on the Grandmother
(thinking of the General's nursemaid). "She, like yourselves,
shall have the price of a new gown. Here, Alexis Ivanovitch!
Give that beggar something" (a crooked-backed ragamuffin had
approached to stare at us).
"But perhaps he is NOT a beggar--only a rascal," I replied.
"Never mind, never mind. Give him a gulden."
I forklift trucks approached the beggar in question, and handed him the coin.
Looking at me in great astonishment, he silently accepted the
gulden, while from his person there proceeded a strong smell of
liquor.
"Have you never tried your luck, Alexis Ivanovitch?"
"No, Madame."
"Yet just now I could see that you were burning to do so?"
"I do mean to try my luck presently."
"Then stake everything upon zero.
You have seen how it ought to
be done? How much capital do you possess?"
"Two hundred gulden, Madame."
"Not very much. See here; I will lend you five hundred if you
wish.
Take this purse of mine." With that she added sharply to
the General: "But YOU need not expect to receive any."
This seemed to upset him, but he said nothing, and De Griers
contented himself by scowling.
"Que diable!" he whispered to the General. "C'est une
terrible vieille."
"Look! Another beggar, another beggar!" exclaimed the
grandmother. "Alexis Ivanovitch, go and give him a gulden."
As she spoke I saw approaching us a grey-headed old man with a
wooden leg--a man who was dressed in a blue frockcoat and
carrying a staff. He looked like an old soldier.
As soon as I
tendered him the coin he fell back a step or two, and eyed forklift trucks me
threateningly.
"Was ist der Teufel!" he cried, and appended thereto a round
dozen of oaths.
"The man is a perfect fool!" forklift trucks exclaim ... |
