There was a roar of laughter, in which even Basil joined as frankly as did the culprit himself.
“Caucasus is Caucasus,” he retorted, “and ennui with a capital letter is its overlord. One is not responsible for anything one does there, I assure you.”
“An agreeable and eminently convenient theory,” Basil put in. “But look here; don’t tease him, Mourièff; he did his duty gallantly by the lady in freeing her from oppression and bondage, as also by affording her the chance of new fields to conquer.”
“She has certainly made admirable use of her opportunities! You know that Grand-Duke....”
“’Shh-sh-sh!” resounded from every side. “Hush-a-by baby! No personalities, please, especially about the Imperial Family.”
“Well,” grunted Zàptine, “it’s going to be lovely if we can’t dander the Grand Dukes between ourselves, especially as in this case it would be quite ancient history. Last year, by the way, the illustrious Lesghise in question was on the friendliest of terms with a bonny Englishman who had more good looks than money—which shows that some women are cruelly misjudged.”
“Yes! Of course! But I heard that their friendship was a mere blind, a screen, a laisser-courre, as one might say.”
“A screen? For whose benefit?”
“Some benighted husband’s, I dare say, who believed in the pure and loyal satisfaction of matrimonial life. I was assured that the British son of Mars, who is in the habit of obtaining Russian passports at irregular intervals, was not here for the beaux-yeux of the Lesghise at all, but merely traveled with her to throw dust in somebody’s eyes.”
“Vier Kinder, kein Arbeit, und kein Geld, der kommt gewiss von Lerchenfeldt!” parodied Zàptine, singing at the top of his lungs. “And who’s the fortunate mortal who hides behind one fair woman in order to meet a fairer one with more safety? We must naturally suppose that the second one is the fairer, else how would you account for his criminal coldness toward the screen?”