silent tears poured down from her eyes and from Liza's
too. And the cat, Matros, purred in the large chair by the side of the
stocking and the ball of worsted; the long, thin flame of the little
lamp feebly wavered in front of the holy picture; and in the next
room, just the other side of the door, stood Nastasia Carpovna, and
furtively wiped her eyes with a check pocket-handkerchief, rolled up
into a sort of ball.

XXXVIII.

Down-stairs, meanwhile, the game of preference went on. Maria
Dmitrievna was winning, and was in a very good humor. A servant
entered and announced Panshine's arrival. Maria Dmitrievna let fall
her cards, and fidgeted in her chair. Varvara Pavlovna looked at her
with a half-smile, and then turned her eyes towards the door.

Panshine appeared in a black dress-coat, buttoned all the way up, and
wearing a high English shirt-collar. "It was painful for me to obey;
but, you see, I have come;" that was what was expressed by his serious
face, evidently just shaved for the occasion.

"Why, Valdemar!" exclaimed Maria Dmitrievna, "you used always to come
in without being announced."

Panshine made no other reply than a look, and bowed politely to Maria
Dmitrievna, but did not kiss her hand. She introduced him to Varvara
Pavlovna. He drew back a pace, bowed to her with the same politeness
and with an added expression of respectful grace, and then took a seat
at the card-table. The game soon came to an end. Panshine asked after
Lizaveta Mikhailovna, and expressed his regret at hearing that she
was not quite well. Then he began to converse with Varvara Pavlovna,
weighing every word carefully and emphasizing it distinctly in true
diplomatic style, and, when she spoke, respectfully hearing her
answers to the end. But the seriousness of his diplomatic tone
produced no effect upon Varvara Pavlovna, who would have nothing to do
with it. On the contrary, she looked him full in the face with a sort
of smiling earnestness, and in talking with him seemed thoroughly at
her ease, while her delicate nostrils lightly quivered, as though with
suppressed laughter.

Maria Dmitrievna began to extol Varvara's cleverness. Panshine bent
his head politely, as far as his shirt-collar permitted him, declared
that he had already been convinced of the exceptional nature of her
talents, and all but brought round the conversation to the subject of
Metternich himself. Varvara Pavlovna half-closed her velvety eyes,
and, ha