Ah! what a voice. A canary bird! A real canary bird!
"Your Excellency," I wanted to exclaim, "don't have me executed, but if
it must be done, then kill me rather with your own angelic hand." But,
God knows why, I could not bring it out, so I only said, "No, he has not
come yet."
She glanced at me, looked at the books, and let her handkerchief fall.
Instantly I started up, but slipped on the infernal polished floor, and
nearly broke my nose. Still I succeeded in picking up the handkerchief.
Ye heavenly choirs, what a handkerchief! So tender and soft, of the
finest cambric. It had the scent of a general's rank!
She thanked me, and smiled so amiably that her sugar lips nearly melted.
Then she left the room.
After I had sat there about an hour, a flunkey came in and said, "You
can go home, Mr Ivanovitch; the director has already gone out!"
I cannot stand these lackeys! They hang about the vestibules, and
scarcely vouchsafe to greet one with a nod. Yes, sometimes it is even
worse; once one of these rascals offered me his snuff-box without even
getting up from his chair. "Don't you know then, you country-bumpkin,
that I am an official and of aristocratic birth?"
This time, however, I took my hat and overcoat quietly; these people
naturally never think of helping one on with it. I went home, lay a good
while on the bed, and wrote some verses in my note:
"'Tis an hour since I saw thee,
And it seems a whole long year;
If I loathe my own existence,
How can I live on, my dear?"