ng down on a low chair. "I have just taken
leave of Maria Dmitrievna. I saw Lizaveta Mikhailovna too."

"Call her Liza, my dear. Why should she be Mikhailovna for you? But do
sit still, or you will break Shurochka's chair."

"She was on her way to church," continued Lavretsky. "Is she seriously
inclined?"

"Yes, Fedia, very much so. More than you or I, Fedia."

"And do you mean to say you are not seriously inclined?" lisped
Nastasia Carpovna. "If you have not gone to the early mass to-day, you
will go to the later one."

"Not a bit of it. Thou shalt go alone. I've grown lazy, my mother,"
answered Marfa Timofeevna. "I am spoiling myself terribly with tea
drinking."

She said _thou_ to Nastasia Carpovna, although she lived on a footing
of equality with her--but it was not for nothing that she was a
Pestof. Three Pestofs occur in the Sinodik[A] of Ivan the Terrible.
Marfa Timofeevna was perfectly well aware of the fact.

[Footnote A: "_I.e._, in the list of the nobles of his time, in the
sixteenth century.]

"Tell me, please," Lavretsky began again. "Maria Dmitrievna was
talking to me just now about that--what's his name?--Panshine. What
sort of a man is he?"

"Good Lord! what a chatter-box she is!" grumbled Marfa Timofeevna.
"I've no doubt she has communicated to you as a secret that he hangs
about here as a suitor. She might have been contented to 'Whisper
about it with her _popovich_[A] But no, it seems that is not enough
for her. And yet there is nothing settled so far, thank God! but she's
always chattering."

[Footnote A: The priest's son. _i.e._, Gedeonovsky.]

"Why do you say 'Thank God?'" asked Lavretsky.

"Why, because this fine young man doesn't please me. And what is there
in the matter to be delighted about, I should like to know?"

"Doesn't he please you?"

"No; he can't fascinate every one. It's enough for him that Nastasia
Carpovna here is in love with him."

The poor widow was terribly disconcerted.

"How can you say so, Marfa Timofeevna? Do not you fear God?" she
exclaimed, and a blush instantly suffused her face and neck.

"And certainly the rogue knows how to fascinate her," broke in Marfa
Timofeevna. "He has given her a snuff-box. Fedia, ask her for a pinch
of snuff. You will see what a splendid snuff-box it is. There is
a hussar on horseback on the lid. You had much better not try to
exculpate yourself, my mother."

Nastasia Carpovna could only wave her hands with a deprecatory