and went down the steps.

"Don't forget me either. By the way," he continued, "you are going to
church; say a prayer for me too, while you are there."

Liza stopped and turned towards him.

"Very well," she said, looking him full in the face. "I will pray for
you, too. Come, Lenochka."

Lavretsky found Maria Dmitrievna alone in the drawing-room, which was
redolent of Eau de Cologne and peppermint. Her head ached, she said,
and she had spent a restless night.

She received him with her usual languid amiability, and by degrees
began to talk.

"Tell me," she asked him, "is not Vladimir Nikolaevich a very
agreeable young man?"

"Who is Vladimir Nikolaevich?"

"Why Panshine, you know, who was here yesterday. He was immensely
delighted with you. Between ourselves I may mention, _mon cher
cousin_, that he is perfectly infatuated with my Liza. Well, he is of
good family, he is getting on capitally in the service, he is clever,
and besides he is a chamberlain; and if such be the will of God--I,
for my part, as a mother, shall be glad of it. It is certainly a great
responsibility; most certainly the happiness of children depends upon
their parents. But this much must be allowed. Up to the present time,
whether well or ill, I have done every thing myself, and entirely by
myself. I have brought up my children and taught them every thing
myself--and now I have just written to Maclame Bulous for a
governess--"

Maria Dmitrievna launched out into a description of her cares, her
efforts, her maternal feelings. Lavretsky listened to her in silence,
and twirled his hat in his hands. His cold, unsympathetic look at last
disconcerted the talkative lady.

"And what do you think of Liza?" she asked.

"Lizaveta Mikhailovna is an exceedingly handsome girl," replied
Lavretsky. Then he got up, said good-bye, and went to pay Marfa
Timofeevna a visit. Maria Dmitrievna looked after him with an
expression of dissatisfaction, and thought to herself, "What a bear!
what a moujik! Well, now I understand why his wife couldn't remain
faithful to him."

Marfa Timofeevna was sitting in her room, surrounded by her court.
This consisted of five beings, almost equally dear to her heart--an
educated bullfinch, to which she had taken an affection because it
could no longer whistle or draw water, and which was afflicted with a
swollen neck; a quiet and exceedingly timid little dog, called Roska;
a bad-tempered cat, named Matros; a dark-complexion