“You are probably aware, Stepan Trofimovitch,” Yulia Mihailovna went on enthusiastically, “that tomorrow we shall have the delight of hearing the charming lines⁠ ⁠… one of the last of Semyon Yakovlevitch’s exquisite literary inspirations⁠—it’s called ‘ Merci .’ He announces in this piece that he will write no more, that nothing in the world will induce him to, if angels from Heaven or, what’s more, all the best society were to implore him to change his mind. In fact he is laying down the pen for good, and this graceful ‘ Merci ’ is addressed to the public in grateful acknowledgment of the constant enthusiasm with which it has for so many years greeted his unswerving loyalty to true Russian thought.”

Yulia Mihailovna was at the acme of bliss.

“Yes, I shall make my farewell; I shall say my Merci and depart and there⁠ ⁠… in Karlsruhe⁠ ⁠… I shall close my eyes.” Karmazinov was gradually becoming maudlin.