"In drawing, and in life in general,"--said Panshin, bending his head now to the right, now to the left:--"lightness and boldness are the princ.i.p.al thing."

At that moment, Lemm entered the room, and, with a curt inclination, was on the point of departing; but Panshin flung aside the alb.u.m and pencil, and barred his way.

"Whither are you going, my dear Christofor Feodoritch? Are not you going to stay and drink tea?"

"I must go home,"--said Lemm in a surly voice:--"my head aches."

"Come, what nonsense!--stay. You and I will have a dispute over Shakespeare."

"My head aches,"--repeated the old man.

"We tried to play a Beethoven sonata without you,"--went on Panshin, amiably encircling his waist with his arm, and smiling brightly:--"but we couldn't make it go at all. Just imagine, I couldn't play two notes in succession correctly."

"You vould haf done better to sing your romantz,"--retorted Lemm, pushing aside Panshin's arm, and left the room.

Liza ran after him. She overtook him on the steps.

"Christofor Feodoritch, listen,"--she said to him in German, as she accompanied him to the gate, across the close-cropped green gra.s.s of the yard:--"I am to blame toward you--forgive me."

Lemm made no reply.

"I showed your cantata to Vladimir Nikolaitch; I was convinced that he would appreciate it,--and it really did please him greatly."

Lemm halted.

"Zat is nozing,"--he said in Russian, and then added in his native tongue:--"but he cannot understand anything; how is it that you do not perceive that?--he is a dilettante--and that's all there is to it!"

"You are unjust to him,"--returned Liza:--"he understands everything, and can do nearly everything himself."

"Yes, everything is second-cla.s.s, light-weight, hasty work. That pleases, and he pleases, and he is content with that--well, and bravo! But I am not angry; that cantata and I--we are old fools; I am somewhat ashamed, but that does not matter."

"Forgive me, Christofor Feodoritch,"--said Liza again.

"It does not mattair, it does not mattair," he repeated again in Russian:--"you are a goot girl ... but see yonder, some vun is coming to your house. Good-bye. You are a fery goot girl."

And Lemm, with hasty strides, betook himself toward the gate, through which was entering a gentleman with whom he was not acquainted, clad in a grey coat and a broad-brimmed straw hat. Courteously saluting him (he bowed to all newcomers in the town of O * * *; he turned away from his acquaintances on the street--that was the rule which he had laid down for himself), Lemm pa.s.sed him, and disappeared behind the hedge. The stranger looked after him in amazement, and, exchanging a glance with Liza, advanced straight toward her.

VII

"You do not recognise me,"--he said, removing his hat,--"but I recognise you, although eight years have pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sistance, 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 compa.s.sionately 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 G.o.d, yes,"--replied Marya Dmitrievna,--"why?"

"Because it seemed to me that you were not quite yourself."

Marya Dmitrievna a.s.sumed 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?"