n
small, wooden rooms. But what riches he left behind him! What silver,
what stores of all kinds! All the cellars were crammed full of them.
He was a real manager. That little decanter which you were pleased to
praise was his. He used to drink brandy out of it. But just see! your
grandfather, Peter Andreich, provided himself with a stone mansion,
but he lived worse than his father, and got himself no satisfaction,
but spent all his money, and now there is nothing to remember him
by--not so much as a silver spoon has come down to us from him; and
for all that is left, one must thank Glafira Petrovna's care."

[Footnote A: Part of a Russian proverb.]

"But is it true," interrupted Lavretsky, "that people used to call her
an old witch?"

"But, then, who called her so?" replied Anton, with an air of
discontent.

"But what is our mistress doing now, _batyushka_?" the old man
ventured to ask one day. "Where does she please to have her
habitation?"

"I am separated from my wife," answered Lavretsky, with an effort.
"Please don't ask me about her."

"I obey," sadly replied the old man.

At the end of three weeks Lavretsky rode over to O., and spent the
evening at the Kalitines' house. He found Lemm there, and took a great
liking to him. Although, thanks to his father, Lavretsky could not
play any instrument, yet he was passionately fond of music--of
classical, serious music, that is to say. Panshine was not at the
Kalitines' that evening, for the Governor had sent him somewhere into
the country. Liza played unaccompanied, and that with great accuracy.
Lemm grew lively and animated, rolled up a sheet of paper, and
conducted the music. Maria Dmitrievna looked at him laughingly for a
while, and then went off to bed. According to her, Beethoven was too
agitating for her nerves.

At midnight Lavretsky saw Lemm home, and remained with him till three
in the morning. Lemm talked a great deal. He stooped less than usual,
his eyes opened wide and sparkled, his very hair remained pushed off
from his brow. It was so long since any one had shown any sympathy
with him, and Lavretsky was evidently interested in him, and
questioned him carefully and attentively. This touched the old man. He
ended by showing his music to his guest, and he played, and even sang,
in his worn-out voice, some passages from his own works; among others,
an entire ballad of Schiller's that he had set to music--that of
Fridolin. Lavretsky was loud in its pr