"You do not recognise me,"--he said, removing his hat,--"but I recognise
you, although eight years have passed since I saw you last. You were a
child then. I am Lavretzky. Is your mother at home? Can I see her?"
"Mamma will be very glad,"--replied Liza:--"she has heard of your
arrival."
"Your name is Elizaveta, I believe?"--said Lavretzky, as he mounted the
steps of the porch.
"Yes."
"I remember you well; you had a face, at that time, such as one does not
forget; I used to bring you bonbons then."
Liza blushed and thought, "What a strange man he is!" Lavretzky paused
for a minute in the anteroom. Liza entered the drawing-room, where
Panshin's voice and laughter were resounding; he had imparted some
gossip of the town to Marya Dmitrievna and Gedeonovsky, who had
already returned from the garden, and was himself laughing loudly at what
he had narrated. At the name of Lavretzky, Marya Dmitrievna started in
utter trepidation, turned pale, and advanced to meet him.
"How do you do, how do you do, my dear _cousin_!"--she exclaimed, in a
drawling and almost tearful voice:--"how glad I am to see you!"
"How do you do, my kind cousin,"--returned Lavretzky; and shook her
proffered hand in a friendly way:--"how does the Lord show mercy on you?"
"Sit down, sit down, my dear Feodor Ivanitch. Akh, how delighted I am!
Permit me, in the first place, to present to you my daughter Liza...."
"I have already introduced myself to Lizaveta Mikhailovna,"--Lavretzky
interrupted her.
"Monsieur Panshin.... Sergyei Petrovitch Gedeonovsky.... But pray sit
down! I look at you, and I simply cannot believe my eyes. How is your
health?"
"As you see, I am blooming. And you, cousin,--I don't want to cast the
evil eye on you--you have not grown thin during these eight years."
"Just think, what a long time it is since we saw each other,"--remarked
Marya Dmitrievna, dreamily.--"Whence come you now? Where have you left
... that is, I meant to say"--she hastily caught herself up--"I meant to
say, are you to be with us long?"
"I have just come from Berlin,"--returned Lavretzky,--"and to-morrow I
set out for my estate--probably to remain there a long time."
"Of course, you will live at Lavriki?"
"No, not at Lavriki, but I have a tiny village about twenty-five versts
from here; I am going there."
"The village which you inherited from Glafira Petrovna?"
"The same."
"Good gracious, Feodor Ivanitch! You have a splendid house at
Lavriki!"
Lavretzky scowled slightly.
"Yes ... but in that little estate there is a small wing; and, for the
present, I need nothing more. That place is the most convenient for me
just now."
Marya Dmitrievna again became so perturbed, that she even straightened
herself up, and flung her hands apart. Panshin came to her assistance,
and entered into conversation with Lavretzky. Marya Dmitrievna
recovered her composure, leaned back in her chair, and only interjected a
word from time to time; but, all the while, she gazed so compassionately
at her visitor, she sighed so significantly, and shook her head so
mournfully, that the latter, at last, could endure it no longer, and
asked her, quite sharply: was she well?
"Thank God, yes,"--replied Marya Dmitrievna,--"why?"
"Because it seemed to me that you were not quite yourself."
Marya Dmitrievna assumed a dignified and somewhat offended aspect.--"If
that's the way you take it,"--she said to herself,--"I don't care in the
least; evidently, my good man, nothing affects thee any more than water
does a goose; any one else would have pined away with grief, but it
swells thee up more than ever." Marya Dmitrievna did not stand on
ceremony with herself; she expressed herself more elegantly aloud.
As a matter of fact, Lavretzky did not resemble a victim of fate. His
rosy-cheeked, purely-Russian face, with its large, white brow, rather
thick nose, and broad, regular lips, fairly overflowed with native
health, with strong, durable force. He was magnificently built,--and his
blond hair curled all over his head, like a young man's. Only in his
eyes, which were blue and prominent and fixed, was there to be discerned
something which was not revery, nor yet weariness, and his voice sounded
rather too even.
In the meantime, Panshin had continued to keep up the conversation. He
turned it on the profits of sugar-refining, concerning which two French
pamphlets had recently made their appearance, and with calm modesty
undertook to set forth their contents, but without saying one word about
them.
"Why, here's Fedya!" suddenly rang out Marfa Timofeevna's voice in the
adjoining room, behind the half-closed door:--"Actually, Fedya!" And the
old woman briskly entered the room. Before Lavretzky could rise from his
chair, she clasped him in her embrace.--"Come, show thyself, show
thyself,"--she said, moving back from his face.--"Eh! What a splendid
fellow thou art! Thou hast grown older, but hast not grown in the least
less comely, really! But why art thou kissing my hands,--kiss me myself,
if my wrinkled cheeks are not repulsive to thee. Can it be, that thou
didst not ask after me: 'Well, tell me, is aunty alive?' Why, thou wert
born into my arms, thou rogue! Well, never mind that; why shouldst thou
have remembered me? Only, thou art a sensible fellow, to have come. Well,
my mother,"--she added, addressing Marya Dmitrievna,--"hast thou given
him any refreshments?"
"I want nothing,"--said Lavretzky, hastily.
"Come, drink some tea, at least, my dear little father. O Lord my God! He
has come, no one knows whence, and they don't give him a cup of tea! Go,
Liza, and see about it, as quickly as possible. I remember that, as a
little fellow, he was a dreadful glutton, and he must be fond of eating
even now."
"My respects, Marfa Timofeevna,"--said Panshin, approaching the angry
old woman from one side, and bowing low.
"Excuse me, sir,"--retorted Marfa Timofeevna,--"I did not notice you
for joy.--Thou hast grown to resemble thy mother, the darling,"--she went
on, turning again to Lavretzky:--"only, thy nose was and remains like
thy father's. Well--and art thou to be long with us?"
"I am going away to-morrow, aunty."
"Whither?"
"Home, to Vasilievskoe."
"To-morrow?"
"Yes."
"Well, if it must be to-morrow, it must. God be with thee,--thou knowest
best. Only, see here, thou must come to say farewell."--The old woman
tapped him on the cheek.--"I did not think I should live to see thee; and
that not because I was preparing to die; no--I am good for another ten
years, probably: all we Pestoffs are tenacious of life; thy deceased
grandfather used to call us double-lived; but the Lord only knew how much
longer thou wouldst ramble about abroad. Well, but thou art a dashing
fine fellow, a fine fellow; thou canst still lift ten puds in one hand as
of yore, I suppose? Thy deceased father, excuse me, was cranky in some
respects, but he did well when he hired a Swiss for thee; thou
rememberest, how thou and he had fistfights; that's called gymnastics,
isn't it?--But why have I been cackling thus? I have only been keeping
Mr. Panshin" (she never called him Panshin, as she ought) "from
arguing. But we had better drink tea; let us go and drink it on the
terrace, my dear; our cream--is not like what you get in your Londons and
Parises. Let us go, let us go, and do thou, Fediusha, give me thy arm.
O! how thick it is! There's no danger of falling with thee."
All rose and betook themselves to the terrace, with the exception of
Gedeonovsky, who quietly departed. During the entire duration of
Lavretzky's conversation with the mistress of the house, Panshin, and
Marfa Timofeevna, he had sat in a corner, attentively blinking, and
sticking out his lips, in childish curiosity: he now hastened to carry
the news about the new visitor throughout the town.
* * * * *
On that same day, at eleven o'clock in the evening, this is what was
going on at Mme. Kalitin's house. Down-stairs, on the threshold of the
drawing-room, Vladimir Nikolaitch, having seized a favourable moment,
was saying farewell to Liza, and telling her, as he held her hand: "You
know who it is that attracts me hither; you know why I am incessantly
coming to your house; what is the use of words, when everything is so
plain?" Liza made him no reply, and without a smile, and with eyebrows
slightly elevated, and blushing, she stared at the floor, but did not
withdraw her hand; and up-stairs, in Marfa Timofeevna's chamber, by the
light of the shrine-lamp, which hung in front of the dim, ancient holy
pictures, Lavretzky was sitting in an arm-chair, with his elbows on his
knees, and his face in his hands; the old woman, standing before him, was
silently stroking his hair, from time to time. He spent more than an hour
with her, after taking leave of the mistress of the house; he said almost
nothing to his kind old friend, and she did not interrogate him.... And
what was the use of talking, what was there to interrogate him about? She
understood everything as it was, and she sympathised with everything
wherewith his heart was full to overflowing.