“Well, of course!” said the prince; “she has no wish to part with her so-called titles and rights cheaply.”
“Oh! she’ll give plenty of trouble yet; other measures than those are wanted,” said Orloff.
“But what others, Batienka? Her last minutes are drawing near.… You would not have her strangled?”
“And why not?” whispered Orloff, as if to himself, dipping a biscuit into a fresh glass of liqueur. “Pity for such like!”
The général procureur threw a side-long glance from behind the green abat-jour on his visitor. “And you’re not joking, Alexis Gregorevitch? It’s your advice?”
“Oh! for the good of my country, and like a true patriot—not only would I advise, but very much recommend,” answered Orloff, walking backwards and forwards, munching the sweet melting biscuits.
“Mais, c’est un assassin dans l’âme!” thought to himself the great judge,[40] whose personal appearance was austere and generally gloomy, as he listened in horror to the soft, cat-like tread of Orloff on the carpet; “c’est en lui comme une mauvaise habitude!”
Orloff took out his eye-glass, and, biting a fresh biscuit, began to admire a picture of Psyche and Cupid on the wall.
“Whence came this picture?” asked he.