SUSPENDER BUTTONS : when opened, she took out a miniature in water colour, in an oval bronze frame, of a perfectly naked little child of four years old with a quiver over her shoulders fastened across the chest with pale blue ribbons, trying the points of the arrows with the tip of her little finger. The child was all smiles and curls and had a slight squint. "And that was I," she said. "Really? "Yes, as a child. When my father was alive a Frenchman used to come and see him, such a nice Frenchman too! He painted that for my father's birthday. Such a nice man! He used to come and see us often. He would come in, make such a pretty courtesy and kiss your hand, and when going away would kiss the tips of his own fingers so prettily, and bow to the right, to suspender buttons left, backwards
SUSPENDER BUTTONS : and forwards! He was such a nice Frenchman!" The guests praised his work; Paklin even declared that he saw a certain likeness. Here Fomishka began to express his views on the modern French, saying that they had become very wicked nowadays! "What makes you think so, Foma Lavrentievitch?" "Look at the awful names they give themselves nowadays!" "What, for instance?" "Nogent Saint suspender buttons for instance! A regular brigand's name!" Fomishka asked incidentally who reigned in Paris now, and when told that it was Napoleon, was surprised and pained at the information. "How? . . . Such an old man--" he began and stopped, looking round in confusion. Fomishka had but a poor knowledge of French, and read Voltaire in translation; he always kept a translated manuscript of "Candide" in the bible box at the head of his bed. He used to come out with
SUSPENDER BUTTONS : expressions like: "This, my dear, is Jausse parquet," meaning suspicious, untrue. He was very much laughed at for this, until a certain learned Frenchman told him that it was an old parliamentary expression employed in his country until the year 1789. As the conversation turned upon France and the French, Fimishka resolved to ask something that had been very much on her mind. She first thought of addressing herself to Markelov, but he looked too forbidding, so she turned to Solomin, but no! He seemed to her such a plain sort of person, not likely to know French at all, suspender buttons she turned to Nejdanov. "I should like to ask you something, if I may," she began; "excuse me, my kinsman Sila Samsonitch makes fun of me and my woman's ignorance." What is it? " "Supposing one wants to ask in French, 'What is it?' must one say
SUSPENDER BUTTONS : 'Kese-kese-kese-la?'" "Yes." "And can one also say 'Kese-kese-la?' "Yes." "And simply 'Kese-la?'" "Yes, that's right." "And does it mean the same thing?" "Yes, it suspender buttons Fimishka thought awhile, then threw up her arms. "Well, Silushka," she exclaimed; "I am wrong and you are right. But these Frenchmen . . . How smart they are!" Paklin began begging the old people to sing them some ballad. They were both surprised and amused at the idea, but consented readily on condition that Snandulia accompanied them on the harpsichord. In a corner of the room there stood a little spinet, which not one of them had noticed before. Snandulia sat down to it and struck several chords. Nejdanov had never heard such sour, toneless, tingling, jangling notes, but the old people promptly struck up the ballad, "Was it to Mourn." Fomisha began-
SUSPENDER BUTTONS : "In love God gave a heart Of burning passion to inspire That loving heart with warm desire." "But there is agony in bliss" Fimishka chimed in. "And passion free from pain there is, Ah! where, where? tell me, tell me this," "Ah! where, where? Tell me, tell me this," Fomisha put in. "Ah! where, where? tell me, tell me this," Fimishka repeated. "Nowhere in all the world, nowhere, Love bringeth grief and black despair," they sang together, "And that, love's gift is everywhere," Fomisha sang out alone. "Bravo!" Paklin exclaimed. "We have had the first verse, now please sing us the second." "With the suspender buttons of pleasure," Fomishka said, "but what about the trill, Snandulia Samsonovna? After my verse there must be a trill." "Very well, I will play your trill," Snandulia replied. Fomishka began again- "Has ever lover loved true
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