Little Mugford, Devon, will always find me. [To Yarinka, kissing her hand.] Goodbye, Mademoiselle: goodbye, Little Mother, if I may call you that just once. [Varinka puts up her face to be kissed.] Eh? No, no, no, no: you don't mean that, you know. Naughty! [To the Sergeant.] Goodbye, my friend. You will drink our healths with this [tipping him].
THE SERGEANT. The blessed Nicholas will multiply your fruits, Little Father.
EDSTASTON. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
- He goes out backwards, bowing, with Claire curtseying, having been listened to in utter dumbfoundedness by Patiomkin and Naryshkin, in childlike awe by Yarinka, and with quite
inexpressible feelings by Catherine. When he is out of sight she rises with clinched fists and raises her arms and her closed eyes to Heaven. Patiomkin: rousing himself from his stupor of amazement, springs to her like a tiger, and throws himself at her feet.
PATIOMKIN. What shall I do to him for you? Skin him alive? Cut off his eyelids and stand him in the sun? Tear his tongue out? What shall it be?
CATHERINE [opening her eyes]. Nothing. But oh, if I could only have had him for my—for my—for my—
PATIOMKIN [in a growl of jealousy]. For your lover?
CATHERINE [with an ineffable smile]. No: for my museum.
