"How are you, my good cousin?" replied Lavretsky, with a friendly
pressure of her outstretched hand. "Is all well with you?"

"Sit clown, sit down, my dear Fedor Ivanovich. Oh, how delighted I am!
But first let me introduce my daughter Liza."

"I have already introduced myself to Lizaveta Mikhailovna,"
interrupted Lavretsky.

"Monsieur Panshine--Sergius Petrovich Gedeonovsky. But do sit down. I
look at you, and, really, I can scarcely trust my eyes. But tell me
about your health; is it good?"

"I am quite well, as you can see. And you, too, cousin--if I can say
so without bringing you bad luck[A]--you are none the worse for these
seven years."

[Footnote A: A reference to the superstition of the "evil eye," still
rife among the peasants in Russia. Though it has died out among the
educated classes, yet the phrase, "not to cast an evil eye," is still
made use of in conversation.]

"When I think what a number of years it is since we last saw one
another," musingly said Maria Dmitrievna. "Where do you come from now?
Where have you left--that's to say, I meant"--she hurriedly corrected
herself--"I meant to say, shall you stay with us long?"

"I come just now from Berlin," replied Lavretsky, "and to-morrow I
shall go into the country--to stay there, in all probability, a long
time."

"I suppose you are going to live at Lavriki?"

"No, not at Lavriki; but I have a small property about five-and-twenty
versts from here, and I am going there."

"Is that the property which Glafira Petrovna left you?"

"Yes, that's it."

"But really, Fedor Ivanovich, you have such a charming house at
Lavriki."

Lavretsky frowned a little.

"Yes--but I have a cottage on the other estate too; I don't require
any more just now. That place is--most convenient for me at present."

Maria Dmitrievna became once more so embarrassed that she actually sat
upright in her chair, and let her hands drop by her side. Panshine
came to the rescue, and entered into conversation with Lavretsky.
Maria Dmitrievna by degrees grew calm, leant back again comfortably
in her chair, and from time to time contributed a word or two to the
conversation. But still she kept looking at her guest so pitifully,
sighing so significantly, and shaking her head so sadly, that at last
he lost all patience, and asked her, somewhat brusquely, if she was
unwell.

"No, thank God!" answered Maria Dmitrievna; "but why do you ask?"

"Because I thought you did not seem q