clock...."

CHAPTER IV. THE CRIPPLE

SHATOV WAS NOT PERVERSE but acted on my note, and called at midday on
Lizaveta Nikolaevna. We went in almost together; I was also going to
make my first call. They were all, that is Liza, her mother, and Mavriky
Nikolaevitch, sitting in the big drawing-room, arguing. The mother was
asking Liza to play some waltz on the piano, and as soon as Liza began
to play the piece asked for, declared it was not the right one.
Mavriky Nikolaevitch in the simplicity of his heart took Liza's part,
maintaining that it was the right waltz. The elder lady was so angry
that she began to cry. She was ill and walked with difficulty. Her
legs were swollen, and for the last few days she had been continually
fractious, quarrelling with every one, though she always stood rather
in awe of Liza. They were pleased to see us. Liza flushed with pleasure,
and saying _"merci"_ to me, on Shatov's account of course, went to meet
him, looking at him with interest.

Shatov stopped awkwardly in the doorway. Thanking him for coming she led
him up to her mother.

"This is Mr. Shatov, of whom I have told you, and this is Mr. G----v, a
great friend of mine and of Stepan Trofimovitch's. Mavriky Nikolaevitch
made his acquaintance yesterday, too."

"And which is the professor?"

"There's no professor at all, maman."

"But there is. You said yourself that there'd be a professor. It's this
one, probably." She disdainfully indicated Shatov.

"I didn't tell you that there'd be a professor. Mr. G----v is
in the service, and Mr. Shatov is a former student."

"A student or professor, they all come from the university just the
same. You only want to argue. But the Swiss one had moustaches and a
beard."

"It's the son of Stepan Trofimovitch that maman always calls the
professor," said Liza, and she took Shatov away to the sofa at the other
end of the drawing-room.

"When her legs swell, she's always like this, you understand she's
ill," she whispered to Shatov, still with the same marked curiosity,
scrutinising him, especially his shock of hair.

"Are you an officer?" the old lady inquired of me. Liza had mercilessly
abandoned me to her.

"N-no.--I'm in the service...."

"Mr. G----v is a great friend of Stepan Trofimovitch's," Liza chimed in
immediately.

"Are you in Stepan Trofimovitch's service? Yes, and he's a professor,
too, isn't he?"

"Ah, maman, you must dream at night of professors," cried Liza wit