Part 34

"From what singing, aunty?"

"Why, of course, they keep singing--what do you call it?--duets. And always in Italian: tchi-tchi, and tcha-tcha, regular magpies. They begin to drag the notes out, and it's just like tugging at your soul. Pánshin and that wife of yours. And all that has come about so quickly; already they are on the footing of relatives, they do not stand on ceremony. However, I will say this much: even a dog seeks a refuge; no harm will come to her, so long as people don't turn her out."

"Nevertheless, I must confess that I did not expect this,"--replied Lavrétzky:--"it must have required great boldness."

"No, my dear soul, that is not boldness; it is calculation. The Lord be with her--I want nothing to do with her! They tell me that thou art sending her to Lavríki,--is it true?"

"Yes, I am placing that estate at the disposal of Varvára Pávlovna."

"Has she asked for money?"

"Not yet."

"Well, it will not be long before she does. But I have only just taken a good look at thee. Art thou well?"

"Yes."

"Schúrotchka,"--suddenly cried Márfa Timoféevna:--"go, and tell Lizavéta Mikhaílovna--that is to say, no, ask her ... she's down-stairs, isn't she?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, yes; then ask her: 'Where did she put my book?' She knows."

"I obey, ma'am."

Again the old woman began to bustle about, and to open the drawers of her commode. Lavrétzky sat motionless on his chair.

Suddenly light footsteps became audible on the stairs--and Liza entered. Lavrétzky rose to his feet, and bowed; Liza halted by the door.

"Liza, Lízotchka,"--said Márfa Timoféevna hastily;--"where is my book, where didst thou put my book?"

"What book, aunty?"

"Why, my book; good heavens! However, I did not call thee.... Well, it makes no difference. What are you doing there--down-stairs? See here, Feódor Ivánitch has come.--How is thy head?"

"It is all right."

"Thou art always saying: 'It is all right.' What's going on with you down-stairs,--music again?"

"No--they are playing cards."

"Yes, of course, she is up to everything. Schúrotchka, I perceive that thou wishest to have a run in the garden. Go along."

"Why, no, Márfa Timoféevna...."

"Don't argue, if you please. Go! Nastásya Kárpovna has gone into the garden alone: stay with her. Respect the old woman."--Schúrotchka left the room.--"Why, where is my cap? Really, now, where has it got to?"

"Pray let me look for it,"--said Liza.

"Sit down, sit down; my own legs haven't given out yet. I must have left it yonder, in my bedroom."

And, casting a sidelong glance at Lavrétzky, Márfa Timoféevna left the room. She was on the point of leaving the door open, but suddenly turned round toward it, and shut it.

Liza leaned against the back of her chair, and gently lifted her hands to her face; Lavrétzky remained standing, as he was.