Part 7

"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 Lavrétzky; and shook her proffered hand in a friendly way:--"how does the Lord show mercy on you?"

"Sit down, sit down, my dear Feódor Ivánitch. Akh, how delighted I am! Permit me, in the first place, to present to you my daughter Liza...."

"I have already introduced myself to Lizavéta Mikhaílovna,"--Lavrétzky interrupted her.

"Monsieur Pánshin.... Sergyéi Petróvitch Gedeónovsky.... 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 Márya Dmítrievna, 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 Lavrétzky,--"and to-morrow I set out for my estate--probably to remain there a long time."

"Of course, you will live at Lavríki?"

"No, not at Lavríki, but I have a tiny village about twenty-five versts from here; I am going there."

"The village which you inherited from Glafíra Petróvna?"

"The same."

"Good gracious, Feódor Ivánitch! You have a splendid house at Lavríki!"

Lavrétzky 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."

Márya Dmítrievna again became so perturbed, that she even straightened herself up, and flung her hands apart. Pánshin came to her assistance, and entered into conversation with Lavrétzky. Márya Dmítrievna recovered her composure, leaned back in her chair, and only interjected a word from time to time; but, all the while, she gazed so compassionately 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 God, yes,"--replied Márya Dmítrievna,--"why?"

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

Márya Dmítrievna assumed 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." Márya Dmítrievna did not stand on ceremony with herself; she expressed herself more elegantly aloud.

As a matter of fact, Lavrétzky 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, Pánshin 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 Fédya!" suddenly rang out Márfa Timoféevna's voice in the adjoining room, behind the half-closed door:--"Actually, Fédya!" And the old woman briskly entered the room. Before Lavrétzky 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 Márya Dmítrievna,--"hast thou given him any refreshments?"

"I want nothing,"--said Lavrétzky, hastily.

"Come, drink some tea, at least, my dear little father. O Lord my God! He has come, no one knows whence, and they don't give him a cup of tea! Go, Liza, and see about it, as quickly as possible. I remember that, as a little fellow, he was a dreadful glutton, and he must be fond of eating even now."

"My respects, Márfa Timoféevna,"--said Pánshin, approaching the angry old woman from one side, and bowing low.

"Excuse me, sir,"--retorted Márfa Timoféevna,--"I did not notice you for joy.--Thou hast grown to resemble thy mother, the darling,"--she went on, turning again to Lavrétzky:--"only, thy nose was and remains like thy father's. Well--and art thou to be long with us?"

"I am going away to-morrow, aunty."

"Whither?"