"Stop it!
It's impossible to talk to you seriously." She burst out laughing, and sat back on the couch, her eyes shining.
Seated at a large round table, Prince Vasily was showing his sister, Anosov and his brother-in-law a family album of cartoons drawn by himself.
All four were laughing heartily, and gradually those other guests who were not playing cards gathered round them.
The album was a sort of supplement to Prince Vasily's satirical stories — a collection of illustrations.
With imperturbable calm he showed
"The Story of the Amorous Adventures of the Brave General Anosov in Turkey, Bulgaria and Elsewhere,"
"An Adventure of Prince Nicole Boulate-Touganofski the Coxcomb in Monte Carlo," and so on.
"I'll now acquaint you, ladies and gentlemen, with a brief biography of my beloved sister, Lyudmila Lvovna," he said, with a swift teasing glance at his sister. "Part One. Childhood.
The child was growing. Her name was Lima."
The album leaf displayed the figure of a little girl, purposely drawn in childish style, her face set in profile and yet showing both eyes; two broken lines sticking out from under her skirt represented her legs, and the fingers of both hands were spread out.
"Nobody ever called me Lima," said Lyudmila Lvovna with a laugh.
"Part Two.
First Love.
A cavalry cadet, kneeling before the damsel Lima, presents her with a poem of his own production.
It contains these lines of rare beauty:
Your gorgeous leg , I do opine,
Is a thing of love divine!
"And here is an original likeness of the leg.
"Here the cadet induces the innocent Lima to elope from her parents' home.
Here you see them in flight.
And here is a critical situation: the enraged father has overtaken the fugitives.
The faint-hearted cadet leaves the meek Lima in the lurch.
You powdered your nose in a manner so slack That now our pursuers are hot on our track;
So just do your best to hold them at bay,
While into the bushes I run away. "
The story of "the damsel Lima" was followed by one entitled
"Princess Vera and the Infatuated Telegraphist."
"This moving poem is so far only in illustrations," Vasily Lvovich explained with a serious air. "The text is in the making."
"That's something new," said Anosov, "I haven't seen it before."
"It's the latest issue.
First edition."
Vera gently touched his shoulder.
"Don't, please," she said.
But Vasily Lvovich did not hear, or perhaps he did not take it seriously.
"It dates from prehistoric times.
One fine day in May a damsel by the name of Vera received a letter with kissing doves on the first page.
Here's the letter, and here are the doves.
"The letter contains an ardent confession of love, written against all rules of spelling.
It begins:
'O Beutifiil Blonde who art — a raging sea of flames seathing in my chest.
Thy gaze clings to my tormented soal like a venomus serpent,' and so on.
It ends in this humble way:
'I am only a poor telegrafist, but my feelings are worthy of Milord George.
I dare not reveel my full name — it is too indecent.
I only sign my inicials: P.P.Z.
Please send your anser to the post-office, poste restante.'
Here, ladies and gentlemen, you can see the portrait of the telegraphist himself, very skilfully executed in crayon.
"Vera's heart was pierced (here's her heart and here's the arrow).
But, as beseemed a well-behaved and good-mannered damsel, she showed the letter to her honourable parents, and also to her childhood friend and fiance, Vasya Sheyin, a handsome young man.