on. "Did you come straight
up-stairs? Well, there, of course. So... you came to see me? Thanks."

The old lady was silent for a little; Lavretsky did not know what to say
to her; but she understood him.

"Lisa... yes, Lisa was here just now," pursued Marfa Timofyevna, tying
and untying the tassels of her reticule. "She was not quite well.
Shurotchka, where are you? Come here, my girl; why can't you sit still
a little? My head aches too. It must be the effect of the singing and
music."

"What singing, auntie?"

"Why, we have been having those--upon my word, what do you call
them--duets here. And all in Italian: chi-chi--and cha-cha--like magpies
for all the world with their long drawn-out notes as if they'd pull
your very soul out. That's Panshin, and your wife too. And how quickly
everything was settled; just as though it were all among relations,
without ceremony. However, one may well say, even a dog will try to find
a home; and won't be lost so long as folks don't drive it out."

"Still, I confess I did not expect this," rejoined Lavretsky; "there
must be great effrontery to do this."

"No, my darling, it's not effrontery, it's calculation, God forgive her!
They say you are sending her off to Lavriky; is it true?"

"Yes, I am giving up that property to Varvara Pavlovna."

"Has she asked you for money?"

"Not yet."

"Well, that won't be long in coming. But I have only now got a look at
you. Are you quite well?"

"Yes."

"Shurotchka!" cried Marfa Timofyevna suddenly, "run and tell Lisaveta
Mihalovna,--at least, no, ask her... is she down-stairs?"

"Yes."

"Well, then; ask her where she put my book? she will know."

"Very well."

The old lady grew fidgety again and began opening a drawer in the chest.
Lavretsky sat still without stirring in his place.

All at once light footsteps were heard on the stairs--and Lisa came in.

Lavretsky stood up and bowed; Lisa remained at the door.

"Lisa, Lisa, darling," began Marfa Timofyevna eagerly, "where is my
book? where did you put my book?"

"What book, auntie?"

"Why, goodness me, that book! But I didn't call you though... There, it
doesn't matter. What are you doing down-stairs? Here Fedor Ivanitch has
come. How is your head?"

"It's nothing."

"You keep saying it's nothing. What have you going on
down-stairs--music?"

"No--they are playing cards."

"Well, she's ready for anything. Shurotchka, I see you want a run in the
garden--run along."