arvara Pavlovna
very skilfully avoided all that could even remotely recall her position;
there was no reference to love in her remarks; on the contrary, they
were rather expressive of austerity in regard to the allurements of
passion, of disillusionment and resignation. Panshin disputed with her;
she did not agree with him.... but, strange to say!... at the very time
when words of censure-often of severe censure--were coming from her
lips, these words had a soft caressing sound, and her eyes spoke...
precisely what those lovely eyes spoke, it was hard to say; but at least
their utterances were anything but severe, and were full of undefined
sweetness.

Panshin tried to interpret their secret meaning, he tried to make his
own eyes speak, but he felt he was not successful; he was conscious that
Varvara Pavlovna, in the character of a real lioness from abroad, stood
high above him, and consequently was not completely master of himself.
Varvara Pavlovna had a habit in conversation of lightly touching the
sleeve of the person she was talking to; those momentary contacts had
a most disquieting influence on Vladimir Nikolaitch. Varvara Pavlovna
possessed the faculty of getting on easily with every one; before two
hours had passed it seemed to Panshin that he had known her for an age,
and Lisa, the same Lisa whom, at any-rate, he had loved, to whom he
had the evening before offered his hand, had vanished as it were into
a mist. Tea was brought in; the conversation became still more
unconstrained. Marya Dmitrievna rang for the page and gave orders to ask
Lisa to come down if her head were better. Panshin, hearing Lisa's
name, fell to discussing self-sacrifice and the question which was more
capable of sacrifice--man or woman. Marya Dmitrievna at once became
excited, began to maintain that woman is more the ready for sacrifice,
declared that she would prove it in a couple of words, got confused and
finished up by a rather unfortunate comparison. Varvara Pavlovna took up
a music-book and half-hiding behind it and bending towards Panshin, she
observed in a whisper, as she nibbled a biscuit, with a serene smile
on her lips and in her eyes, "Elle n'a pas invente la poudre, la bonne
dame." Panshin was a little taken aback and amazed at Varvara Pavlovna's
audacity; but he did not realise how much contempt for himself was
concealed in this unexpected outbreak, and forgetting Marya Dmitrievna's
kindness and devotion, forgetting all the d