according to the dictates of my heart.
But I see that it is not to be. So farewell to my fancy!"

He made Liza a low bow, and went back into the house.

She hoped he would go away directly; but he went to her mother's
boudoir, and remained an hour with her. As he was leaving the house he
said to Liza, "_Votre mere vous appelle: Adieu a jamais_!" then he got
on his horse, and immediately set off at full gallop.

On going to her mother's room, Liza found her in tears. Panshine had
told her about his failure.

"Why should you kill me? Why should you kill me?" Thus did the
mortified widow begin her complaint. "What better man do you want? Why
is he not fit to be your husband? A chamberlain! and so disinterested
Why, at Petersburg he might marry any of the maids of honor! And I--I
had so longed for it. And how long is it since you changed your mind
about him? Wherever has this cloud blown from?--for it has never come
of its own accord. Surely it isn't that wiseacre? A pretty adviser you
have found, if that's the case!"

"And as for him, my poor, dear friend," continued Maria Dmitrievna,
"how respectful he was, how attentive, even in the midst of his
sorrow! He has promised not to desert me. Oh, I shall never be able to
bear this! Oh, my head is beginning to ache dreadfully! Send Palashka
here. You will kill me, if you don't think better of it. Do you hear?"
And then, after having told Liza two or three times that she was
ungrateful, Maria Dmitrievna let her go away.

Liza went to her room. But before she had had a moment's
breathing-time after her scene with Panshine and with her mother,
another storm burst upon her, and that from the quarter from which she
least expected it.

Marfa Timofeevna suddenly came into her room, and immediately shut the
door after her. The old lady's face was pale; her cap was all
awry; her eyes were flashing, her lips quivering. Liza was lost in
astonishment. She had never seen her shrewd and steady aunt in such a
state before.

"Very good, young lady!" Marfa Timofeevna began to whisper, with a
broken and trembling voice. "Very good! Only who taught that, my
mother--Give me some water; I can't speak."

"Do be calm, aunt. What is the matter?" said Liza, giving her a glass
of water. "Why, I thought you didn't like M. Panshine yourself."

Marfa Timofeevna pushed the glass away. "I can't drink it. I should
knock out my last teeth, if I tried. What has Panshine to do with it?
Whatever have