Historical fiction; Russia -- Social conditions -- 1801-1917 -- Fiction
“Yes, and he gave me a fearful dig in the chest,” cried the prince,
still laughing. “What are we to fight about? I shall beg his pardon,
that’s all. But if we must fight—we’ll fight! Let him have a shot at
me, by all means; I should rather like it. Ha, ha, ha! I know how to
load a pistol now; do you know how to load a pistol, Keller? First, you
have to buy the powder, you know; it mustn’t be wet, and it mustn’t be
that coarse stuff that they load cannons with—it must be pistol powder.
Then you pour the powder in, and get hold of a bit of felt from some
door, and then shove the bullet in. But don’t shove the bullet in
before the powder, because the thing wouldn’t go off—do you hear,
Keller, the thing wouldn’t go off! Ha, ha, ha! Isn’t that a grand
reason, Keller, my friend, eh? Do you know, my dear fellow, I really
must kiss you, and embrace you, this very moment. Ha, ha! How was it
you so suddenly popped up in front of me as you did? Come to my house
as soon as you can, and we’ll have some champagne. We’ll all get drunk!
Do you know I have a dozen of champagne in Lebedeff’s cellar? Lebedeff
sold them to me the day after I arrived. I took the lot. We’ll invite
everybody! Are you going to do any sleeping tonight?”
“As much as usual, prince—why?”
“Pleasant dreams then—ha, ha!”
The prince crossed the road, and disappeared into the park, leaving the
astonished Keller in a state of ludicrous wonder. He had never before
seen the prince in such a strange condition of mind, and could not have
imagined the possibility of it.
“Fever, probably,” he said to himself, “for the man is all nerves, and
this business has been a little too much for him. He is not _afraid_,
that’s clear; that sort never funks! H’m! champagne! That was an
interesting item of news, at all events!—Twelve bottles! Dear me,
that’s a very respectable little stock indeed! I bet anything Lebedeff
lent somebody money on deposit of this dozen of champagne. Hum! he’s a
nice fellow, is this prince! I like this sort of man. Well, I needn’t
be wasting time here, and if it’s a case of champagne, why—there’s no
time like the present!”
That the prince was almost in a fever was no more than the truth. He
wandered about the park for a long while, and at last came to himself
in a lonely avenue. He was vaguely conscious that he had already paced
this particular walk—from that large, dark tree to the bench at the
other end—about a hundred yards altogether—at least thirty times
backwards and forwards.
As to recollecting what he had been thinking of all that time, he could
not. He caught himself, however, indulging in one thought which made
him roar with laughter, though there was nothing really to laugh at in
it; but he felt that he must laugh, and go on laughing.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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