“I’m going to the conservatory all the same!” declared Katherine.
“No, Kitty loves her mamma too much for that; Kitty would not grieve her mamma and papa!”
“Yes, I am going!” Katherine insisted, playfully and wilfully stamping her little foot.
At supper it was Turkin who showed off his accomplishments. With laughing eyes, but with a serious face he told funny stories, and made jokes, and asked ridiculous riddles which he answered himself. He spoke a language all his own, full of laboured, acrobatic feats of wit, in the shape of such words as “splendiferous,” “not baddish,” “I thank you blindly,” which had clearly long since become a habit with him.
But this was not the end of the entertainment. When the well-fed, well-satisfied guests had trooped into the front hall to sort out their hats and canes they found Pava the footman, a shaven-headed boy of fourteen, bustling about among them.
“Come now, Pava! Do your act!” cried Turkin to the lad.
Pava struck an attitude, raised one hand, and said in a tragic voice:
“Die, unhappy woman!”
At which every one laughed.
“Quite amusing!” thought Startseff, as he stepped out into the street.