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Chapter 11 Missus Mordokonaki likewise returned to her estate at about the same time that the injured Varnava Prepotensky dragged himself home. The swift ride over the smooth, hard road had the pleasant, refreshing effect on the lady from St. Petersburg that one needs after spending a long time amidst noise and chatter in which one is obliged to take part. Missus Mordokonaki did not mock what she had seen. She had simply gone through with her visit to the lower realms of society and left with the same feeling with which she had left the christening party of her housekeeper, who had prevailed upon her to be the godmother of her child. In that comfortable frame of mind she arrived at her mansion, walked through a number of elegant empty rooms, undressed, got into bed, and, feeling somewhat chilly, reached for the afghan that lay folded on the stool beside her bed. When she spread out the afghan, she was surprised to discover a small piece of paper pinned to the center. It was a thin sheet of stationery folded in fourths. The sleepy beauty looked more closely at the supplement to her afghan and inside the strange border drawn around the edges she saw the word Parol´doner [parole d’honneur—word of honor] written in large Russian letters. “What could this mean?” she wondered and, taking out the pin, she unfolded the paper and read: “Dear Madam! Please forgive me for being plainspoken with you, for a plain soldier is always plainspoken. I sincerely rejoice and give thanks to God that you are leaving us to put your beloved children to bed for the night. May God grant that they attain the same goal as their dear mama. I humbly request you to send a written reply. If, however, you find that Poverdovnya does not merit your favor, then honor him with your heavenly autograf, which I shall cherish in my heart. I call you heavenly and adore you, You are the idol of my soul, I bare my heart and soul before you— In you a magic world unfolds. Captain Poverdovnya CHAPTER 11 287 Missus Mordokonaki burst out laughing, read the enamored captain ’s missive once more, and, after extinguishing the paraffin candle with a silver snuffer, went blissfully to sleep thinking, Bon Dieu, voilà la véritable Russie [Good Lord, here is the real Russia]! ...

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