ar her features were not
unattractive, though they had lost somewhat of their fineness and
delicacy. She was naturally sensitive and impressionable, rather than
actually good-hearted, and even in her years of maturity she continued
to behave in the manner peculiar to "Institute girls;" she denied
herself no indulgence, she was easily put out of temper, and she would
even burst into tears if her habits were interfered with. On the other
hand, she was gracious and affable when all her wishes were fulfilled,
and when nobody opposed her in any thing. Her house was the
pleasantest in the town; and she had a handsome income, the greater
part of which was derived from her late husband's earnings, and the
rest from her own property. Her two daughters lived with her; her son
was being educated in one of the best of the crown establishments at
St. Petersburgh.

The old lady who was sitting at the window with Maria Dmitrievna was
her father's sister, the aunt with whom she had formerly spent so many
lonely years at Pokrovskoe. Her name was Marfa Timofeevna Pestof.
She was looked upon as an original, being a woman of an independent
character, who bluntly told the truth to every one, and who, although
her means were very small, behaved in society just as she would have
done had she been rolling in wealth. She never could abide the late
Kalitine, and as soon as her niece married him she retired to her own
modest little property, where she spent ten whole years in a peasant's
smoky hut. Maria Dmitrievna was rather afraid of her. Small in
stature, with black hair, a sharp nose, and eyes which even in old age
were still keen, Marfa Timofeevna walked briskly, held herself
bolt upright, and spoke quickly but distinctly, and with a loud,
high-pitched voice. She always wore a white cap, and a white
_kofta_[A] always formed part of her dress.

[Footnote A: A sort of jacket.]

"What is the matter?" she suddenly asked. "What are you sighing
about?"

"Nothing," replied Maria Dmitrievna. "What lovely clouds!"

"You are sorry for them, I suppose?"

Maria Dmitrievna made no reply.

"Why doesn't Gedeonovsky come?" continued Marfa Timofeevna, rapidly
plying her knitting needles. (She was making a long worsted scarf.)
"He would have sighed with you. Perhaps he would have uttered some
platitude or other."

"How unkindly you always speak of him! Sergius Petrovich is--a most
respectable man."

"Respectable!" echoed the old lady reproachfull