Maria Dmitrievna was greatly embarrassed when she was informed that
Madame Lavretsky was at the door. She did not even know whether she
ought to receive her, being afraid of offending Lavretsky; but at last
curiosity prevailed. "After all," she thought, "she is a relation,
too." So she seated herself in an easy chair, and said to the footman,
"Show her in."
A few minutes went by, then the door was thrown open, and Varvara
Pavlovna, with a swift and almost noiseless step, came up to Maria
Dmitrievna, and, without giving her time to rise from her chair,
almost went down upon her knees before her.
"Thank you, aunt," she began in Russian, speaking softly, but in a
tone of deep emotion. "Thank you; I had not even dared to hope that
you would condescend so far. You are an angel of goodness."
Having said this, Varvara Pavlovna unexpectedly laid hold of one of
Maria Dmitrievna's hands, gently pressed it between her pale-lilac
Jouvin's gloves, and then lifted it respectfully to her pouting, rosy
lips. Maria Dmitrievna was entirely carried away by the sight of such
a handsome and exquisitely dressed woman almost at her feet, and did
not know what position to assume. She felt half inclined to draw back
her hand, half inclined to make her visitor sit down, and to say
something affectionate to her. She ended by rising from her chair and
kissing Varvara's smooth and perfumed forehead.
Varvara appeared to be totally overcome by that kiss.
"How do you do? _bonjour_," said Maria Dmitrievna. "I never
imagined--however, I'm really delighted to see you. You will
understand, my dear, it is not my business to be judge between a man
and his wife."
"My husband is entirely in the right," said Varvara Pavlovna,
interrupting her, "I alone am to blame."
"Those are very praiseworthy sentiments, very," said Maria Dmitrievna.
"Is it long since you arrived? Have you seen him? But do sit down."
"I arrived yesterday," answered Varvara Pavlovna, seating herself on a
chair in an attitude expressive of humility. "I have seen my husband,
and I have spoken with him."
"Ah! Well, and what did he say?"
"I was afraid that my coming so suddenly might make him angry,"
continued Varvara Pavlovna; "but he did not refuse to see me."
"That is to say, he has not--Yes, yes, I understand," said Maria
Dmitrievna. "It is only outwardly that he seems a little rough; his
heart is really soft."
"Fedor Ivanovich has not pardoned me. He did not want to listen to me.
But he has been good enough to let me have Lavriki to live in."
"Ah, a lovely place!"
"I shall set off there to-morrow, according to his desire. But I
considered it a duty to pay you a visit first."
"I am very, very much obliged to you my dear. One ought never to
forget one's relations. But do you know I am astonished at your
speaking Russian so well. _C'est étonnant_."
Varvara Pavlovna smiled.
"I have been too long abroad, Maria Dmitrievna, I am well aware of
that. But my heart has always been Russian, and I have not forgotten
my native land."
"Yes, yes. There's nothing like that. Your husband certainly didn't
expect you in the least. Yes, trust my experience--_la patrie avant
tout_. Oh! please let me! What a charming mantilla you have on!"
"Do you like it?" Varvara took it quickly off her shoulders. "It is
very simple; one of Madame Baudran's."
"One can see that at a glance. How lovely, and in what exquisite
taste! I feel sure you've brought a number of charming things with
you. How I should like to see them!"
"All my toilette is at your service, dearest aunt. I might show your
maid something if you liked. I have brought a maid from Paris, a
wonderful needle-woman."
"You are exceedingly good, my dear. But, really, I haven't the
conscience--"
"Haven't the conscience!" repeated Varvara Pavlovna, in a reproachful
tone. "If you wish to make me happy, you will dispose of me as if I
belonged to you."
Maria Dmitrievna fairly gave way.
"_Vous êtes charmante_," she said. But why don't you take off your
bonnet and gloves?"
"What! You allow me?" asked Varvara Pavlovna, gently clasping her
hands with an air of deep emotion.
"Of course. You will dine with us, I hope. I--I will introduce my
daughter to you." (Maria Dmitrievna felt embarrassed for a moment, but
then, "Well, so be it," she thought.) "She happens not to be quite
well to-day.'
"Oh! _ma tante_, how kind you are!" exclaimed Varvara Pavlovna,
lifting her handkerchief to her eyes.
At this moment the page announced Gedeonovsky's arrival, and the
old gossip came in smiling, and bowing profoundly. Maria Dmitrievna
introduced him to her visitor. At first he was somewhat abashed, but
Varvara Pavlovna behaved to him with such coquettish respectfulness
that his ears soon began to tingle, and amiable speeches and gossiping
stories began to flow uninterruptedly from his lips.
Varvara Pavlovna listened to him, slightly smiling at times, then by
degrees she too began to talk. She spoke in a modest way about Paris,
about her travels, about Baden; she made Maria Dmitrievna laugh two or
three times, and each time she uttered a gentle sigh afterwards, as if
she were secretly reproaching herself for her unbecoming levity; she
asked leave to bring Ada to the house; she took off her gloves, and
with her smooth white hands she pointed out how and where flounces,
ruches, lace, and so forth, were worn; she promised to bring a bottle
of new English scent--the Victoria essence--and was as pleased as a
child when Maria Dmitrievna consented to accept it as a present;
and she melted into tears at the remembrance of the emotion she had
experienced when she heard the first Russian bells.
"So profoundly did they sink into my very heart," she said.
At that moment Liza came into the room.
All that day, ever since the moment when, cold with dismay, Liza had
read Lavretsky's note, she had been preparing herself for an interview
with his wife. She foresaw that she would see her, and she determined
not to avoid her, by way of inflicting upon herself a punishment for
what she considered her culpable hopes. The unexpected crisis which
had taken place in her fate had profoundly shaken her. In the course
of about a couple of hours her face seemed to have grown thin. But
she had not shed a single tear. "It is what you deserve," she said to
herself, repressing, though not without difficulty, and at the cost
of considerable agitation, certain bitter thoughts and evil impulses
which frightened her as they arose in her mind. "Well, I must go," she
thought, as soon as she heard of Madame Lavretsky's arrival, and she
went.
She stood outside the drawing-room door for a long time before she
could make up her mind to open it At last, saying to herself, "I am
guilty before her," she entered the room, and forced herself to look
at her, even forced herself to smile. Varvara Pavlovna came forward to
meet her as soon as she saw her come in, and made her a slight, but
still a respectful salutation.
"Allow me to introduce myself," she began, in an insinuating tone."
Your mamma has been so indulgent towards me that I hope that you too
will be--good to me."
The expression of Varvara Pavlovna's face as she uttered these last
words, her cunning smile, her cold and, at the same time, loving look,
the movements of her arms and shoulders, her very dress, her whole
being, aroused such a feeling of repugnance in Liza's mind that she
absolutely could not answer her, and only by a strong effort could
succeed in holding out her hand to her. "This young lady dislikes me,"
thought Varvara Pavlovna, as she squeezed Liza's cold fingers, then,
turning to Maria Dmitrievna, she said in a half whisper. "_Mais elle
est délicieuse_!"
Liza faintly reddened. In that exclamation she seemed to detect a tone
of irony and insult. However, she determined not to trust to that
impression, and she took her seat at her embroidery frame near the
window.
Even there Varvara Pavlovna would not leave her in peace. She came to
her, and began to praise her cleverness and taste. Liza's heart began
to beat with painful force. Scarcely could she master her feelings,
scarcely could she remain sitting quietly in her place. It seemed to
her as if Varvara Pavlovna knew all and were mocking her with secret
triumph. Fortunately for her, Gedeonovsky began to talk to Varvara
and diverted her attention. Liza bent over her frame and watched her
without being observed. "That woman," she thought, "was once loved by
_him_." But then she immediately drove out of her mind even so much as
the idea of Lavretsky. She felt her head gradually beginning to swim,
and she was afraid of losing command over herself. Maria Dmitrievna
began to talk about music.
"I have heard, my dear," she began, "that you are a wonderful
_virtuosa_."
"I haven't played for a long time," replied Varvara Pavlovna, but she
immediately took her seat at the piano and ran her fingers rapidly
along the keys. "Do you wish me to play?"
"If you will do us that favor."
Varvara Pavlovna played in a masterly style a brilliant and difficult
study by Herz. Her performance was marked by great power and rapidity.
"_A sylphide_!" exclaimed Gedeonovsky.
"It is wonderful!" declared Maria Dmitrievna. "I must confess you have
fairly astonished me, Varvara Pavlovna," calling that lady by her name
for the first time. "Why you might give concerts. We have a musician
here, an old German, very learned and quite an original. He gives Liza
lessons. You would simply make him go out of his mind."
"Is Lizaveta Mikhailovna also a musician?" asked Madame Lavretsky,
turning her head a little towards her.
"Yes; she doesn't play badly, and she is very fond I of music. But
what does that signify in comparison with you? But we have a young man
here besides. You really must make his acquaintance. He is a thorough
artist in feeling, and he composes charmingly. He is the only person
here who can fully appreciate you"
"A young man?" said Varvara Pavlovna. "What is he? Some poor fellow?"
"I beg your pardon. He is the leading cavalier here, and not here
only--_et à Pétersbourg_--a chamberlain, received in the best society.
You surely must have heard of him--Vladimir Nikolaevich Panshine. He
is here on government business--a future minister!"
"And an artist too?"
"An artist in feeling, and so amiable. You shall see him. He has
been here a great deal for some time past. I asked him to come this
evening. I _hope_ he will come," added Maria Dmitrievna with a slight
sigh and a bitter smile.
Liza understood the hidden meaning of that smile, but she had other
things to think about then.
"And he's young?" repeated Varvara Pavlovna, lightly modulating from
key to key.
"Twenty-eight years old--and a most pleasing exterior. _Un jeune homme
accompli_."
"A model young man, one may say," remarked Gedeonovsky.
Varvara Pavlovna suddenly began to play a noisy waltz by Strauss,
beginning with so loud and quick a trill that Gedeonovsky fairly
started. Right in the middle of the waltz she passed abruptly into a
plaintive air, and ended with the _Fra poco_ out of _Lucia_. She had
suddenly remembered that joyful music was not in keeping with her
position.
Maria Dmitrievna was deeply touched by the air from _Lucia_, in which
great stress was laid upon the sentimental passages.
"What feeling!" she whispered to Gedeonovsky.
"_A Sylphide_!" repeated Gedeonovsky, lifting his eyes to heaven.
The dinner hour arrived. Marfa Timofeevna did not come down from
up-stairs until the soup was already placed on the table. She behaved
very coldly to Varvara Pavlovna, answering her amiable speeches with
broken phrases, and never even looking at her. Varvara soon perceived
that there was no conversation to be got out of that old lady, so she
gave up talking to her. On the other hand Madame Kalitine became still
more caressing in her behavior towards her guest. She was vexed by her
aunt's rudeness.
After all, it was not only Varvara that the old lady would not look
at. She did not once look at Liza either, although her eyes almost
glowed with a meaning light. Pale, almost yellow, there she sat, with
compressed lips, looking as if she were made of stone, and would eat
nothing.
As for Liza, she seemed calm, and was so in reality. Her heart was
quieter than it had been. A strange callousness, the callousness of
the condemned, had come over her.
During dinner Varvara Pavlovna said little. She seemed to have become
timid again, and her face wore an expression of modest melancholy.
Gedeonovsky was the only person who kept the conversation alive,
relating several of his stories, though from time to time he looked
timidly at Marfa Timofeevna and coughed. That cough always seized him
whenever he was going to embellish the truth in her presence. But this
time she did not meddle with him, never once interrupted him.
After dinner it turned out that Varvara Pavlovna was very fond of the
game of preference. Madame Kalitine was so pleased at this that she
felt quite touched and inwardly thought, "Why, what a fool Fedor
Ivanovich must be! Fancy not having been able to comprehend such a
woman!"
She sat down to cards with Varvara and Gedeonov sky; but Marfa
Timofeevna carried off Liza to her room up-stairs, saying that the
girl "had no face left," and she was sure her head must be aching.
"Yes, her head aches terribly," said Madame Kalitine, addressing
Varvara Pavlovna, and rolling her eyes. "I often have such headaches
myself."
"Really!" answered Varvara Pavlovna.
Liza entered her aunt's room, and sank on a chair perfectly worn out.
For a long time Marfa Timofeevna looked at her in silence, then she
quietly knelt down before her, and began, still quite silently, to
kiss her hands--first one, and then the other.
Liza bent forwards and reddened--then she began to cry; but she did
not make her aunt rise, nor did she withdraw her hands from her. She
felt that she had no right to withdraw them--had no right to prevent
the old lady from expressing her sorrow, her sympathy--from asking
to be pardoned for what had taken place the day before. And Marfa
Timofeevna could not sufficiently kiss those poor, pale, nerveless
hands; while silent tears poured down from her eyes and from Liza's
too. And the cat, Matros, purred in the large chair by the side of the
stocking and the ball of worsted; the long, thin flame of the little
lamp feebly wavered in front of the holy picture; and in the next
room, just the other side of the door, stood Nastasia Carpovna, and
furtively wiped her eyes with a check pocket-handkerchief, rolled up
into a sort of ball.