"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 a Petersbourg_--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 pa.s.sed 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 pa.s.sages.

"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.

x.x.xVIII.

Down-stairs, meanwhile, the game of preference went on. Maria Dmitrievna was winning, and was in a very good humor. A servant entered and announced Panshine's arrival. Maria Dmitrievna let fall her cards, and fidgeted in her chair. Varvara Pavlovna looked at her with a half-smile, and then turned her eyes towards the door.

Panshine appeared in a black dress-coat, b.u.t.toned all the way up, and wearing a high English shirt-collar. "It was painful for me to obey; but, you see, I have come;" that was what was expressed by his serious face, evidently just shaved for the occasion.

"Why, Valdemar!" exclaimed Maria Dmitrievna, "you used always to come in without being announced."

Panshine made no other reply than a look, and bowed politely to Maria Dmitrievna, but did not kiss her hand. She introduced him to Varvara Pavlovna. He drew back a pace, bowed to her with the same politeness and with an added expression of respectful grace, and then took a seat at the card-table. The game soon came to an end. Panshine asked after Lizaveta Mikhailovna, and expressed his regret at hearing that she was not quite well. Then he began to converse with Varvara Pavlovna, weighing every word carefully and emphasizing it distinctly in true diplomatic style, and, when she spoke, respectfully hearing her answers to the end. But the seriousness of his diplomatic tone produced no effect upon Varvara Pavlovna, who would have nothing to do with it. On the contrary, she looked him full in the face with a sort of smiling earnestness, and in talking with him seemed thoroughly at her ease, while her delicate nostrils lightly quivered, as though with suppressed laughter.

Maria Dmitrievna began to extol Varvara's cleverness. Panshine bent his head politely, as far as his shirt-collar permitted him, declared that he had already been convinced of the exceptional nature of her talents, and all but brought round the conversation to the subject of Metternich himself. Varvara Pavlovna half-closed her velvety eyes, and, having said in a low voice, "But you are an artist also, _un confrere_," added still lower, "_Venez_!" and made a sign with her head in the direction of the piano. This single word, "_Venez_!" so abruptly spoken, utterly changed Panshine's appearance, as if by magic, in a single moment. His care-worn air disappeared, he began to smile, he became animated, he unb.u.t.toned his coat, and, saying "I am an artist! Not at all; but you, I hear, are an artist indeed," he followed Varvara Pavlovna to the piano.

"Tell him to sing the romance, 'How the moon floats,'" exclaimed Maria Dmitrievna.

"You sing?" asked Varvara Pavlovna, looking at him with a bright and rapid glance. "Sit down there."

Panshine began to excuse himself.

"Sit down," she repeated, tapping the back of the chair in a determined manner.

He sat down, coughed, pulled up his shirt-collar, and sang his romance.

"_Charmant_," said Varvara Pavlovna. "You sing admirably--_vous avez du style_. Sing it again."

She went round to the other side of the piano, and placed herself exactly opposite Panshine. He repeated his romance, giving a melodramatic variation to his voice. Varvara looked at him steadily, resting her elbows on the piano, with her white hands on a level with her lips. The song ended, "_Charmant! Charmante idee_," she said, with the quiet confidence of a connoisseur. "Tell me, have you written anything for a woman's voice--a mezzo-soprano?"

"I scarcely write anything," answered Panshine. "I do so only now and then--between business hours. But do you sing?"

"Oh yes! do sing us something," said Maria Dmitrievna.

Varvara Pavlovna tossed her head, and pushed her hair back from her flushed cheeks. Then, addressing Panshine, she said--

"Our voices ought to go well together. Let us sing a duet. Do you know '_Son geloso_,' or '_La ci darem_,' or '_Mira la bianca luna_?'"

"I used to sing '_Mira la bianca luna_,'" answered Panshine; but it was a long time ago. I have forgotten it now."

"Never mind, we will hum it over first by way of experiment. Let me come there."

Varvara Pavlovna sat down to the piano. Panshine stood by her side.

They hummed over the duet, Varvara Pavlovna correcting him several times; then they sang it out loud, and afterwards repeated it twice--"_Mira la bianca lu-u-una_." Varvara's voice had lost its freshness, but she managed it with great skill. At first Panshine was nervous, and sang rather false, but afterwards he experienced an artistic glow; and, if he did not sing faultlessly, at all events he shrugged his shoulders, swayed his body to and fro, and from time to time lifted his hand aloft, like a genuine vocalist.

Varvara Pavlovna afterwards played two or three little pieces by Thalberg, and coquettishly chanted a French song. Maria Dmitrievna did not know how to express her delight, and several times she felt inclined to send for Liza. Gedeonovsky, too, could not find words worthy of the occasion, and could only shake his head. Suddenly, however, and quite unexpectedly, he yawned, and only just contrived to hide his mouth with his hand.