I shall not talk at random:
forgive her, forgive your wife." Marya Dmitrievna's eyes suddenly filled
with tears. "Only think: her youth, her inexperience... and who knows,
perhaps, bad example; she had not a mother who could bring her up in the
right way. Forgive her, Fedor Ivanitch, she has been punished enough."

The tears were trickling down Marya Dmitrievna's cheeks: she did not
wipe them away, she was fond of weeping. Lavretsky sat as if on thorns.
"Good God," he thought, "what torture, what a day I have had to-day!"

"You make no reply," Marya Dmitrievna began again. "How am I to
understand you? Can you really be so cruel? No, I will not believe it.
I feel that my words have influenced you, Fedor Ivanitch. God reward you
for your goodness, and now receive your wife from my hands."

Involuntarily Lavretsky jumped up from his chair; Marya Dmitrievna
also rose and running quickly behind a screen, she led forth Varvara
Pavlovna. Pale, almost lifeless, with downcast eyes, she seemed to have
renounced all thought, all will of her own, and to have surrendered
herself completely to Marya Dmitrievna.

Lavretsky stepped back a pace.

"You have been here all the time!" he cried.

"Do not blame her," explained Marya Dmitrievna; "she was most unwilling
to stay, but I forced her to remain. I put her behind the screen. She
assured me that this would only anger you more; I would not even listen
to her; I know you better than she does. Take your wife back from my
hands; come, Varya, do not fear, fall at your husband's feet (she gave a
pull at her arm) and my blessing"...

"Stop a minute, Marya Dmitrievna," said Lavretsky in a low but
startlingly impressive voice. "I dare say you are fond of affecting
scenes" (Lavretsky was right, Marya Dmitrievna still retained her
school-girl's passion for a little melodramatic effect), "they amuse
you; but they may be anything but pleasant for other people. But I
am not going to talk to you; in this scene you are not the principal
character. What do you want to get out of me, madam?" he added, turning
to his wife. "Haven't I done all I could for you? Don't tell me you did
not contrive this interview; I shall not believe you--and you know that
I cannot possibly believe you. What is it you want? You are clever--you
do nothing without an object. You must realise, that as for living with,
as I once lived with you, that I cannot do; not because I am angry with
you, but because I have become a