e is so penitent--I do solemnly declare I have never seen
any one so penitent."

"But tell me, Maria Dmitrievna," said Lavretsky, "if I may be allowed
to be so inquisitive. I hear that Varvara Pavlovna has been singing
here. Was it in one of her penitent moments that she sang, or how--?"

"How can you talk like that and not feel ashamed of yourself? She
played and sang simply to give me pleasure, and because I particularly
entreated her, almost ordered her to do so. I saw that she was
unhappy, so unhappy, and I thought how I could divert her a little;
and besides that, I had heard that she had so much talent. Do show
her some pity, Fedor Ivanich--she is utterly crushed--only ask
Gedeonovsky--broken down entirely, _tout-a-fait_. How can you say such
things of her?"

Lavretsky merely shrugged his shoulders.

"And besides, what a little angel your Adochka is! What a charming
little creature! How pretty she is! and how good! and how well she
speaks French! And she knows Russian too. She called me aunt in
Russian. And then as to shyness, you know, almost all children of her
age are shy; but she is not at all so. It's wonderful how like you she
is, Fedor Ivanich--eyes, eyebrows, in fact you all over--absolutely
you. I don't usually like such young children, I must confess, but I
am quite in love with your little daughter."

"Maria Dmitrievna," abruptly said Lavretsky, "allow me to inquire why
you are saying all this to me?"

"Why?"--Maria Dmitrievna again had recourse to her Eau-de-Cologne
and drank some water--"why I say this to you, Fedor Ivanich, is
because--you see I am one of your relations, I take a deep interest in
you. I know your heart is excellent. Mark my words, _mon cousin_--at
all events I am a woman of experience, and I do not speak at random.
Forgive, do forgive your wife!". (Maria Dmitrievna's eyes suddenly
filled with tears.) "Only think--youth, inexperience, and perhaps also
a bad example--hers was not the sort of mother to put her in the right
way. Forgive her, Fedor Ivanich! She has been punished enough."

The tears flowed down Maria Dmitrievna's cheeks. She did not wipe
them away; she was fond of weeping. Meanwhile Lavretsky sat as if on
thorns. "Good God!" he thought, "what torture this is! What a day this
has been for me!"

"You do not reply," Maria Dmitrievna recommenced: "how am I to
understand you? Is it possible that you can be so cruel? No, I cannot
believe that. I feel that my words have