nces were worn and ruches and
lace and rosettes. She promised to bring a bottle of the new English
scent, Victoria Essence; and was as happy as a child when Marya
Dmitrievna consented to accept it as a gift. She was moved to tears over
the recollection of the emotion she experienced, when, for the first
time, she heard the Russian bells. "They went so deeply to my heart,"
she explained.

At that instant Lisa came in.

Ever since the morning, from the very instant when, chill with horror,
she had read Lavretsky's note, Lisa had been preparing herself for the
meeting with his wife. She had a presentiment that she would see her.
She resolved not to avoid her, as a punishment of her, as she called
them, sinful hopes. The sudden crisis in her destiny had shaken her to
the foundations. In some two hours her face seemed to have grown thin.
But she did not shed a single tear. "It's what I deserve!" she said to
herself, repressing with difficulty and dismay some bitter impulses of
hatred which frightened her in her soul. "Well, I must go down!" she
thought directly she heard of Madame Lavretsky's arrival, and she went
down.... She stood a long while at the drawing-room door before she
could summon up courage to open it. With the thought, "I have done her
wrong," she crossed the threshold and forced herself to look at her,
forced herself to smile. Varvara Pavlovna went to meet her directly she
caught sight of her, and bowed to her slightly, but still respectfully.
"Allow me to introduce myself," she began in an insinuating voice, "your
maman is so indulgent to me that I hope that you too will be... good
to me." The expression of Varvara Pavlovna, when she uttered these
last words, cold and at the same time soft, her hypocritical smile, the
action of her hands, and her shoulders, her very dress, her whole being
aroused such a feeling of repulsion in Lisa that she could make no reply
to her, and only held out her hand with an effort. "This young lady
disdains me," thought Varvara Pavlovna, warmly pressing Lisa's cold
fingers, and turning to Marya Dmitrievna, she observed in an undertone,
"mais elle est delicieuse!" Lisa faintly flushed; she heard ridicule,
insult in this exclamation. But she resolved not to trust her
impressions, and sat down by the window at her embroidery-frame. Even
here Varvara Pavlovna did not leave her in peace. She began to admire
her taste, her skill.... Lisa's heart beat violently and painfully. She
coul