"_Oui, monsieur_," she replied, with a grimace, and began to set the room in order, bending herself into graceful att.i.tudes, and by each of her gestures making Lavretsky feel that she considered him an uncivilized bear. It was with a sensation of downright hatred that he watched the mocking expression of her faded, but still _piquante_, Parisian face, and looked at her white sleeves, her silk ap.r.o.n, and her little cap. At last he sent her away, and, after long hesitation, as Varvara Pavlovna did not return, he determined to go to the Kalitines', and pay a visit, not to Madame Kalitine (for nothing would have induced him to enter her drawing-room--that drawing-room in which his wife was), but to Marfa Timofeevna. He remembered that a back staircase, used by the maid-servants, led straight to her room.

Lavretsky carried out his plan. By a fortunate chance he met Shurochka in the court-yard, and she brought him to Marfa Timofeevna. He found the old lady, contrary to her usual custom, alone. She was without her cap, and was sitting in a corner of the room in a slouching att.i.tude, her arms folded across her breast. When she saw Lavretsky, she was much agitated, and jumping up hastily from her chair, she began going here and there about the room, as if she were looking for her cap.

"Ah! so you have come, then," she said, fussing about and avoiding his eyes. "Well, good day to you! Well, what's--what's to be done? Where were you yesterday? Well, she has come. Well--yes. Well, it must be--somehow or other."

Lavretsky sank upon a chair.

"Well, sit down, sit down," continued the old lady. "Did you come straight up-stairs? Yes, of course. Eh! You came to see after me? Many thanks."

The old lady paused. Lavretsky did not know what to say to her; but she understood him.

"Liza--yes; Liza was here just now," she continued tying and untying the strings of her work-bag. "She isn't quite well. Shurochka, where are you? Come here, my mother; cannot you sit still a moment? And I have a headache myself. It must be that singing which has given me it, and the music."

"What singing, aunt?"

"What? don't you know? They have already begun--what do you call them?--duets down there. And all in Italian--chi-chi and cha-cha--regular magpies. With their long drawn-out notes, one would think they were going to draw one's soul out. It's that Panshine, and your wife too. And how quickly it was all arranged! Quite without ceremony, just as if among near relations. However, one must say that even a dog will try to find itself a home somewhere. You needn't die outside if folks don't chase you away from their houses."

"I certainly must confess I did not expect this," answered Lavretsky.

"This must have required considerable daring."

"No, my dear, it isn't daring with her, it is calculation. However, G.o.d be with her! They say you are going to send her to Lavriki. Is that true?"

"Yes; I am going to make over that property to her."

"Has she asked you for money?"

"Not yet."

"Well, that request won't be long in coming. But--I haven't looked at you till now--are you well?"

"Quite well."

"Shurochka!" suddenly exclaimed the old lady. "Go and tell Lizaveta Mikhailovna--that is--no--ask her--Is she down-stairs?"

"Yes."

"Well, yes. Ask her where she has put my book She will know all about it."

"Very good."

The old lady commenced bustling about again, and began to open the drawers in her commode. Lavretsky remained quietly sitting on his chair.

Suddenly light steps were heard on the staircase--and Liza entered.

Lavretsky stood up and bowed. Liza remained near the door.

"Liza, Lizochka," hurriedly began Marfa Timofeevna, "where have you--where have you put my book?"

"What book, aunt?"

"Why, good gracious! that book. However, I didn't send for you--but it's all the same. What are you all doing down-stairs? Here is Fedor Ivanovich come. How is your headache?"

"It's of no consequence."

"You always say, 'It's of no consequence.' What are you all doing down below?--having music again?"

"No--They are playing cards."

"Of course; she is ready for anything. Shurochka, I see you want to run out into the garden. Be off!"

"No, I don't Marfa Timofeevna--"

"No arguing, if you please. Be off. Nastasia Carpovna has gone into the garden by herself. Go and keep her company. You should show the old lady respect."

Shurochka left the room.

"But where is my cap? Wherever can it have got to?"

"Let me look for it," said Liza.

"Sit still, sit still! My own legs haven't dropped off yet. It certainly must be in my bed-room."

And Marfa Timofeevna went away, after casting a side-glance at Lavretsky. At first she left the door open, but suddenly she returned and shut it again from the outside.

Liza leant back in her chair and silently hid her face in her hands.

Lavretsky remained standing where he was.

"This is how we have had to see each other!" he said at last.

Liza let her hands fall from before her face.

"Yes," she replied sadly, "we have soon been punished."

"Punished!" echoed Lavretsky. "For what have you, at all events, been punished?"

Liza looked up at him. Her eyes did not express either sorrow or anxiety; but they seemed to have become smaller and dimmer than they used to be. Her face was pale; even her slightly-parted lips had lost their color.

Lavretsky's heart throbbed with pity and with love.

"You have written to me that all is over," he whispered. "Yes, all is over--before it had begun."

"All that must be forgotten," said Liza. "I am glad you have come. I was going to write to you; but it is better as it is. Only we must make the most of these few minutes. Each of us has a duty to fulfil.

You, Fedor Ivanovich, must become reconciled with your wife."

"Liza!"

"I entreat you to let it be so. By this alone can expiation be made for--for all that has taken place. Think over it, and then you will not refuse my request."