success.

CLAIRE [coldly]. I am not detaining her.

EDSTASTON. Well, goodbye [wringing Patiomkin's hand,
goo-oo-oodbye, Prince: come and see us if ever you visit England.
Spire View, Deepdene, 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?