st in soul, and composes very prettily.
He is the only one who can fully appreciate you."

"A young man?"--said Varvara Pavlovna.--"Who is he? Some poor fellow?"

"Good gracious,--he's our chief cavalier, and not among us only--_et a
Petersbourg_. A Junior Gentleman of the Bedchamber, received in the best
society. You certainly must have heard of him,--Panshin, Vladimir
Nikolaitch. He is here on a government commission ... a future Minister,
upon my word!"

"And an artist?"

"An artist in soul, and such a charming fellow. You shall see him. He has
been at my house very frequently of late; I have invited him for this
evening; I hope that he will come,"--added Marya Dmitrievna, with a
gentle sigh and a sidelong bitter smile.

Liza understood the significance of that smile; but she cared nothing for
it.

"And is he young?"--repeated Varvara Pavlovna, lightly modulating from
one key to another.

"He is eight and twenty--and of the most happy personal appearance. _Un
jeune homme accompli_, upon my word."

"A model young man, one may say,"--remarked Gedeonovsky.

Varvara Pavlovna suddenly began to play a noisy Strauss waltz, which
started with such a mighty and rapid trill as made even Gedeonovsky
start; in the very middle of the waltz, she abruptly changed into a
mournful motif, and wound up with the aria from "Lucia": "Fra poco."...
She had reflected that merry music was not compatible with her situation.
The aria from "Lucia," with emphasis on the sentimental notes, greatly
affected Marya Dmitrievna.

"What soul!"--she said, in a low tone, to Gedeonovsky.

"A sylph!"--repeated Gedeonovsky, and rolled his eyes heavenward.

Dinner-time arrived. Marfa Timofeevna came down-stairs when the soup
was already standing on the table. She treated Varvara Pavlovna very
coolly, replying with half-words to her amiabilities, and not looking at
her. Varvara Pavlovna herself speedily comprehended that she could do
nothing with the old woman, and ceased to address her; on the other hand,
Marya Dmitrievna became more affectionate than ever with her guest: her
aunt's discourtesy enraged her. However, Varvara Pavlovna was not the
only person at whom Marfa Timofeevna refused to look: she never cast a
glance at Liza, either, although her eyes fairly flashed. She sat like a
stone image, all sallow, pale, with tightly compressed lips--and ate
nothing. Liza seemed to be composed; and, as a matter of fact, all had
become more tranquil