anshin that he
had known her always, and Liza, that same Liza, whom he loved,
nevertheless, to whom he had offered his hand on the preceding
day,--vanished as in a mist. Tea was served; the conversation became still
more unconstrained. Marya Dmitrievna rang for her page, and ordered him
to tell Liza to come down-stairs if her head felt better. Panshin, on
hearing Liza's name, set to talking about self-sacrifice, about who was the
more capable of sacrifice--man or woman? Marya Dmitrievna immediately
became agitated, began to assert that woman is the more capable, declared
that she would prove it in two words, got entangled, and wound up by a
decidedly infelicitous comparison. Varvara Pavlovna picked up a
music-book, half-concealed herself with it, and leaning over in the
direction of Panshin, nibbling at a biscuit, with a calm smile on her lips
and in her glance, she remarked, in an undertone: "_Elle n'a pas invente
la poudre, la bonne dame._" Panshin was somewhat alarmed and amazed at
Varvara Pavlovna's audacity; but he did not understand how much scorn for
him, himself, was concealed in that unexpected sally, and, forgetting the
affection and the devotion of Marya Dmitrievna, forgetting the dinners
wherewith she had fed him, the money which she had lent him,--he, with the
same little smile, the same tone, replied (unlucky wight!): "_Je crois
bien_,"--and not even: "_Je crois bien_," but:--"_Je crois ben!_"

Varvara Pavlovna cast a friendly glance at him, and rose. Liza had
entered; in vain had Marfa Timofeevna sought to hold her back: she had
made up her mind to endure the trial to the end. Varvara Pavlovna
advanced to meet her, in company with Panshin, on whose face the former
diplomatic expression had again made its appearance.

"How is your health?"--he asked Liza.

"I feel better now, thank you,"--she replied.

"We have been having a little music here; it is a pity that you did not
hear Varvara Pavlovna. She sings superbly, _un artiste consommee_."

"Come here, _ma cherie_,"--rang out Marya Dmitrievna's voice.

Varvara Pavlovna instantly, with the submissiveness of a little child,
went up to her, and seated herself on a small tabouret at her feet.
Marya Dmitrievna had called her for the purpose of leaving her daughter
alone with Panshin, if only for a moment: she still secretly cherished
the hope that the girl would come to her senses. Moreover, a thought had
occurred to her, to which she desired to give immed