A great deal of wine was
drunk, and by the end of the meal every one was talking as loudly as
possible. I had for companion the beautiful Mlle. Finisterre. She had
lived all her life in Petrograd, and she had a contempt for the citizens
of that fine town worthy of Semyonov himself. Opposite us sat a stout,
good-natured Jewess, who was very happily enjoying her food. She was
certainly the most harmless being in creation, and was probably guilty
of a thousand generosities and kindnesses in her private life.
Nevertheless, Mlle. Finisterre had for her a dark and sinister hatred,
and the remarks that she made about her, in her bitter and piercing
voice, must have reached their victim. She also abused her host very
roundly, beginning to tell me in the fullest detail the history of an
especially unpleasant scandal in which he had notoriously figured. I
stopped her at last.
"It seems to me," I said, "that it would be better not to say these
things about him while you're eating his bread and salt."
She laughed shrilly, and tapped me on the arm with a bony finger.
"Oh, you English!... always so moral and strict about the proprieties.
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