well when Agafia was dissatisfied
with others, whether it were with Maria Dmitrievna or with Kalitine
himself.

For rather more than three years Agafia waited upon Liza. She was
replaced by Mademoiselle Moreau; but the frivolous Frenchwoman, with
her dry manner and her constant exclamation, _Tout ca c'est des
betises_! could not expel from Liza's heart the recollection of her
much-loved nurse. The seeds that had been sown had pushed their roots
too far for that. After that Agafia, although she had ceased to attend
Liza, remained for some time longer in the house, and often saw her
pupil, and treated her as she had been used to do.

But when Marfa Timofeevna entered the Kalitines' house, Agafia did not
get on well with her. The austere earnestness of the former "wearer of
the coarse petticoat." [Footnote: The _Panovnitsa_, or wearer of the
_Panovna_, a sort of petticoat made of a coarse stuff of motley hue.]
did not please the impatient and self-willed old lady. Agafia obtained
leave to go on a pilgrimage, and she never came back. Vague rumors
asserted that she had retired into a schismatic convent. But the
impression left by her on Liza's heart did not disappear. Just as
before, the girl went to mass, as if she were going to a festival; and
when in church prayed with enthusiasm, with a kind of restrained and
timid rapture, at which her mother secretly wondered not a little.
Even Marfa Timofeevna, although she never put any constraint upon
Liza, tried to induce her to moderate her zeal, and would not let her
make so many prostrations. It was not a lady-like habit, she said.

Liza was a good scholar, that is, a persevering one; she was not
gifted with a profound intellect, or with extraordinarily brilliant
faculties, and nothing yielded to her without demanding from her no
little exertion. She was a good pianiste, but no one else, except
Lemm, knew how much that accomplishment had cost her. She did not read
much, and she had no "words of her own;" but she had ideas of her
own, and she went her own way. In this matter, as well as in personal
appearance, she may have taken after her father, for he never used to
ask any one's advice as to what he should do.

And so she grew up, and So did her life pass, gently and tranquilly,
until she had attained her nineteenth year. She was very charming, but
she was not conscious of the fact. In all her movements, a natural,
somewhat unconventional, grace, revealed itself; in her vo