“What? Would you have a commission appointed by the ministers for settling these questions?”
“Why not? Don’t you think we could do it better than these ignorant, hungry loafers who know nothing and imagine themselves to be men of genius? We could appoint Boris Andraevitch as president.”
Valentina Mihailovna laughed louder still.
“You had better take care, Boris Andraevitch is sometimes such a Jacobin—”
“Jacko, jacko, jacko,” the parrot screamed.
Valentina Mihailovna waved her handkerchief at him.
“Don’t interrupt an intelligent conversation! Mariana, do teach him manners!”
Mariana turned to the cage and began stroking the parrot’s neck with her finger; the parrot stretched towards her.
“Yes,” Valentina Mihailovna continued, “Boris Andraevitch astonishes me, too, sometimes. There is a certain strain in him ... a certain strain ... of the tribune.”
“C’est parce qu’il est orateur!” Kollomietzev exclaimed enthusiastically in French. “Your husband is a marvellous orator and is accustomed to success ... ses propres paroles le grisent ... and then his desire for popularity.... By the way, he is rather annoyed just now, is he not? Il boude? Eh?”