"With----" Thérèse looks full at him, with mirth in her eyes,--"with the Oblonsky!"
"Ah! Have her lungs become affected lately?" Zino asks, indifferently.
"Not that I know of; but she probably covets respectability," says Thérèse.
"Ah, tiens! cela doit être drôle. An entire change of system on Stasy's part, then," says Zino, putting down his teacup, and rising.
"She seems to have abandoned the lucrative calling of a turkey-buzzard," Rohritz remarks.
"Yes, and instead to have opened a laundry for the purification of--caps which have fallen among--among nettles, in the vicinity of mills.[[1]] Not a bad trade,--hm!"
"Going already, Zino?"
"Of course," says Zino, stretching himself and yawning as spoiled brothers allow themselves to do in presence of their sisters. "If you suppose I tore myself away from Lyons to drink tea with you, you are mistaken. Be good, Sasa: when will you invite the Meinecks and myself to dine?"
Thérèse, moving her forefinger to and fro before her face, makes the Roman gesture of refusal.
"Oh, very well; as you please," Zino mutters in an ill-humour. "Good-evening." "I wonder where I could meet her," he says, musingly, before lighting his cigar in the coupé that awaits him.