“Well! as you please,” said Volkonski, clearing his throat, and continuing to gaze out of the window. “The incident, if you like, is not very important, rather comical than otherwise. You know the wife of the General Major Kojin? Marie Dimitrievna, who is so lively, so beautiful and such a chatterbox?”
“Oh, of course, who does not know her? I often used to meet her, before my departure for foreign parts.”
“Well! you know, she babbled out, it is said, somewhere … that some one … well! we’ll call them the Abaloshoffs, it’s all the same, I’ve forgotten who—had decided on patronising the new lucky man, Peter Modrvinoff.… Of course you know.”
Orloff silently inclined his head.
“Patronise … well! you understand, trip him up.…”
“Who?” asked Orloff.
“Well! it would seem Gregory Alexandrovitch Potemkin.”
“Well! and what then?”
“Well! this,” continued the prince. “In somebody’s private rooms, Stephan Ivanovitch Sheshkovski was hurriedly called, and the following orders were given:—‘Batiushka, go immediately, this very minute, to the masquerade, find out the Generalsha Kojin. Having found her, carry her off to the secret department, and having given her a slight taste of corporal punishment, as a small token of remembrance, bring back the aforesaid little lady, with all honour, and deliver her safely over to the masquerade.”