Then he says,
seriously--"_Eh bien! allons! C'est fixe_--it is fixed. We meet
Victoria, _et alors, par_ London, Chatham & Dover, from Reims _via_
Calais, _tres bien,--train d'onze heures precises,--bien entendu. J'y
suis. Ihr Diener! Adios! A reverderla! Addio, amico caro!_" Then he
utters something which is between a sneeze and a growl, supposed to
be a term of endearment in the Russian tongue. Finally he says in
English, "Good-bye!"
His hat is on in a jiffy (which I take to be the hundredth part of a
second) and he is down the stairs into the hall, and out at the door
"like a flying light comedian" with an airy "go" about him, which
recalls to my mind the running exits of CHARLES WYNDHAM in one of
his lightest comedy-parts. "_Au revoir! Pour Jeudi alors!_" I hear
him call this out in the hall; the door bangs as if a firework had
exploded and blown my vivacious friend up into the air, and he has
gone.
"_Jeudi alors_" arrives, and I am at Victoria for the eleven o'clock
Express to the minute, having decided that this is the best, shortest,
and cheapest holiday I can take. I've never yet travelled with
my excellent French friend DAUBINET.
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