retty courtesy and kiss your hand, and when going
away would kiss the tips of his own fingers so prettily, and bow to
the right, to the left, backwards and forwards! He was such a nice
Frenchman!"

The guests praised his work; Paklin even declared that he saw a certain
likeness.

Here Fomishka began to express his views on the modern French, saying
that they had become very wicked nowadays!

"What makes you think so, Foma Lavrentievitch?"

"Look at the awful names they give themselves nowadays!"

"What, for instance?"

"Nogent Saint Lorraine, for instance! A regular brigand's name!"

Fomishka asked incidentally who reigned in Paris now, and when told that
it was Napoleon, was surprised and pained at the information.

"How?... Such an old man--" he began and stopped, looking round in
confusion.

Fomishka had but a poor knowledge of French, and read Voltaire in
translation; he always kept a translated manuscript of "Candide" in the
bible box at the head of his bed. He used to come out with expressions
like: "This, my dear, is Jausse parquet," meaning suspicious, untrue.
He was very much laughed at for this, until a certain learned Frenchman
told him that it was an old parliamentary expression employed in his
country until the year 1789.

As the conversation turned upon France and the French, Fimishka resolved
to ask something that had been very much on her mind. She first thought
of addressing herself to Markelov, but he looked too forbidding, so she
turned to Solomin, but no! He seemed to her such a plain sort of person,
not likely to know French at all, so she turned to Nejdanov.

"I should like to ask you something, if I may," she began; "excuse me,
my kinsman Sila Samsonitch makes fun of me and my woman's ignorance."

"What is it?"

"Supposing one wants to ask in French, 'What is it?' must one say
'Kese-kese-kese-la?'"

"Yes."

"And can one also say 'Kese-kese-la?'

"Yes."

"And simply 'Kese-la?'"

"Yes, that's right."

"And does it mean the same thing?"

"Yes, it does."

Fimishka thought awhile, then threw up her arms.

"Well, Silushka," she exclaimed; "I am wrong and you are right. But
these Frenchmen... How smart they are!"

Paklin began begging the old people to sing them some ballad. They
were both surprised and amused at the idea, but consented readily on
condition that Snandulia accompanied them on the harpsichord. In a
corner of the room there stood a little spinet, which not on