I am going to escort him.

I wish you a jolly feast!" "Eh, you ought to wait a little!" exclaimed the stout fellow, and then whispered: "Some one will escort him home!" The consumptive also remarked in a low voice: "You stay here.

We'll escort him to town, and get him into a cab and--there you are!" Foma felt like staying there, and at the same time was afraid of something.

While Yozhov rose to his feet, and, clutching at the sleeves of his overcoat, muttered: "Come, the devil take them!" "Till we meet again, gentlemen! I'm going!" said Foma and departed amid exclamations of polite regret.
"Ha, ha, ha!" Yozhov burst out laughing when he had got about twenty steps away from the fire.

"They see us off with sorrow, but they are glad that I am going away.