The day of the arrival of Lavretzky's wife in town of O * * *, a
cheerless day for him, was also a painful day for Liza. She had not
succeeded in going down-stairs and bidding her mother "good morning,"
before the trampling of a horse's hoofs resounded under the window, and
with secret terror she beheld Panshin riding into the yard: "He has
presented himself thus early for a definitive explanation,"--she
thought--and she was not mistaken; after spending a while in the
drawing-room, he suggested that she should go with him into the garden,
and demanded her decision as to his fate. Liza summoned up her courage,
and informed him that she could not be his wife. He listened to her to
the end, as he stood with his side toward her, and his hat pulled down on
his brows; courteously, but in an altered tone, he asked her: was that
her last word, and had he, in any way, given her cause for such a change
in her ideas? then he pressed his hand to his eyes, sighed briefly and
abruptly, and removed his hand from his face.
"I have not wished to follow the beaten path,"--he said, in a dull
voice,--"I have wished to find my companion after the inclination of the
heart; but, evidently, that was not destined to be. Farewell, dream!"--He
bowed profoundly to Liza, and returned to the house.
She hoped that he would immediately take his departure; but he went into
Marya Dmitrievna's boudoir, and sat with her for about an hour. As he
went away, he said to Liza: "_Votre mere vous appelle; adieu a jamais_
..." mounted his horse, and set off from the very porch at full gallop.
Liza went in to Marya Dmitrievna, and found her in tears: Panshin had
communicated to her his misfortune.
"Why hast thou killed me? Why hast thou killed me?"--in this wise did the
mortified widow begin her complaints.--"Whom else didst thou want? What!
is not he a suitable husband for thee? A Junior Gentleman of the
Emperor's Bedchamber! not _interessant_! He might marry any Maid of
Honour he chose in Petersburg. And I--I had been hoping so! And hast thou
changed long toward him? What has sent this cloud drifting hither--it did
not come of itself! Can it be that ninny? A pretty counsellor thou hast
found!
"And he, my dear one,"--pursued Marya Dmitrievna:--"how respectful, how
attentive, even in his own grief! He has promised not to abandon me. Akh,
I shall not survive this! Akh, I have got a deadly headache. Send
Palasha to me. Thou wilt be the death of me, if thou dost not change thy
mind,--dost thou hear?" And calling her an ingrate a couple of times,
Marya Dmitrievna sent Liza away.
She went to her own room. But before she had time to recover her breath
from her explanation with Panshin and her mother, another thunderstorm
broke over her, and this time from a quarter whence she had least
expected it. Marfa Timofeevna entered her room, and immediately slammed
the door behind her. The old woman's face was pale, her cap was awry, her
eyes were flashing, her hands and lips were trembling. Liza was amazed:
never before had she seen her sensible and reasonable aunt in such a
state.
"Very fine, madam,"--began Marfa Timofeevna, in a tremulous and broken
whisper: "very fine indeed! From whom hast thou learned this, my
mother?... Give me water; I cannot speak."
"Calm yourself, aunty; what is the matter with you?"--said Liza, giving
her a glass of water.--"Why, you yourself did not favour Mr. Panshin."
Marfa Timofeevna set down the glass.
"I cannot drink: I shall knock out my last remaining teeth. What dost
thou mean by Panshin? What has Panshin to do with it? Do thou tell me,
rather, who taught thee to appoint rendezvous by night--hey? my mother?"
Liza turned pale.
"Please do not think of excusing thyself,"--continued Marfa
Timofeevna.--"Schurotchka herself saw all, and told me. I have
forbidden her to chatter, but she does not lie."
"I have made no excuses, aunty,"--said Liza, in a barely audible voice.
"Ah, ah! Now, see here, my mother; didst thou appoint a meeting with him,
with that old sinner, that quiet man?"
"No."
"Then how did it come about?"
"I went down-stairs, to the drawing-room, for a book; he was in the
garden, and called me."
"And thou wentest? Very fine. And thou lovest him, dost thou not?"
"I do,"--replied Liza, in a tranquil voice.
"Gracious heavens! she loves him!"--Marfa Timofeevna tore off her
cap.--"She loves a married man! Hey? she loves!"
"He told me,"--began Liza....
"What did he tell thee, the darling, wha-at was it?"
"He told me that his wife was dead."
Marfa Timofeevna crossed herself.--"The kingdom of heaven be
hers,"--she whispered:--"she was a frivolous woman--God forgive her. So
that's how it is: then he's a widower. Yes, I see that he is equal to
anything. He killed off his first wife, and now he's after another. Thou
art a sly one, art thou not? Only, this is what I have to say to thee,
niece: in my time, when I was young, girls were severely punished for
such capers. Thou must not be angry with me, my mother; only fools get
angry at the truth. I have given orders that he is not to be admitted
to-day. I am fond of him, but I shall never forgive him for this. A
widower, forsooth! Give me some water.... But thou art my brave girl, for
sending Panshin off with a long face; only, do not sit out nights with
that goat's breed,--with men,--do not grieve me, an old woman! For I am
not always amiable--I know how to bite, also!... A widower!"
Marfa Timofeevna departed, but Liza sat down in the corner and began to
cry. She felt bitter in soul; she had not deserved such humiliation. Her
love had not announced its presence by cheerfulness; this was the second
time she had wept since the night before. That new, unexpected feeling
had barely come to life in her heart when she had had to pay so heavily
for it, when strange hands had roughly touched her private secret! She
felt ashamed, and pained, and bitter: but there was neither doubt nor
terror in her,--and Lavretzky became all the dearer to her. She had
hesitated as long as she did not understand herself; but after that
meeting--she could hesitate no longer; she knew that she loved,--and had
fallen in love honourably, not jestingly, she had become strongly
attached, for her whole life; she felt that force could not break that
bond.