'De vrais papelitos, comtesse.'
'Deux gendarmes un beau dimache,' the dulleyed general hummed again, with intense exasperation.
'You must be sure to come and see us,' Irina was saying to Litvinov meantime; 'we are staying at the Hôtel de l'Europe. From four to six I am always at home. We have not seen each other for such a long time.'
Litvinov looked at Irina; she did not drop her eyes.
'Yes, Irina Pavlovna, it is a long time—ever since we were at Moscow.'
'At Moscow, yes, at Moscow,' she repeated abruptly. ' Come and see me, we will talk and recall old times. Do you know, Grigory Mihalitch, you have not changed much.'
'Really? But you have changed, Irina Pavlovna.'
'I have grown older.'
'No, I did not mean that.'
'Irène?' said a lady in a yellow hat and with yellow hair in an interrogative voice after some preliminary whispering and giggling with the officer sitting near her. 'Irène?'
'I am older,' pursued Irina, without answering the lady, 'but I am not changed. No, no, I am changed in nothing.'
' Deux gendarmes un beau dimanche!' was
102
