“I promise you, that after half a year you’ll take your words back, and as a mark of apology, you Erivanian billy goat, you Armavirian egg-plant, you’ll stand me to a dozen of Cakhetine wine.”
“Va! That’s a go!” the prince struck Lichonin’s hand with his palm with all his might. “With pleasure. But if it comes out as I say—then you do it.”
“Then I do it. However, AU REVOIR, prince. Whom are you lodging with?”
“Right here, in this corridor, at Soloviev’s. But you, of course, like a mediaeval knight, will lay a two-edged sword between yourself and the beauteous Rosamond? Yes?”
“Nonsense! I did want to pass the night at Soloviev’s myself. But now I’ll go and wander about the streets a bit and turn in into somebody’s; to Zaitzevich or Strump. Farewell, prince!”
“Wait, wait!” Nijeradze called him, when he had gone a few steps. “I have forgotten to tell you the main thing: Partzan has tripped up!”
“So that’s how?” wondered Lichonin, and at once yawned long, deeply and with enjoyment.
“Yes. But there’s nothing dreadful; only the possession of some illegal brochures and stuff. He won’t have to sit for more than a year.”
“That’s nothing; he’s a husky lad, he can stand it.”
“He’s husky, all right” confirmed the prince.