“We all know where you must be off to!” said Mrs. Epanchin, in a meaning voice.

“Yes, yes⁠—I must hurry away, I’m late! Look here, dears, let him write you something in your albums; you’ve no idea what a wonderful caligraphist he is, wonderful talent! He has just written out ‘Abbot Pafnúte signed this’ for me. Well, au revoir!”

“Stop a minute; where are you off to? Who is this abbot?” cried Mrs. Epanchin to her retreating husband in a tone of excited annoyance.

“Yes, my dear, it was an old abbot of that name⁠—I must be off to see the count, he’s waiting for me, I’m late⁠—Goodbye! Au revoir, prince!”⁠—and the general bolted at full speed.