d fidgeted about in her chair;
Varvara Pavlovna looked at her with a half-smile, then directed her gaze
to the door. Panshin made his appearance, in a black frock-coat, with a
tall English collar, buttoned up to the throat. "It was painful for me to
obey, but you see I have come." That was what his freshly-shaved,
unsmiling face expressed.

"Goodness, _Woldemar_,"--exclaimed Marya Dmitrievna:--"you always used
to enter without being announced!"

Panshin replied to Marya Dmitrievna merely with a look, bowed
courteously to her, but did not kiss her hand. She introduced him to
Varvara Pavlovna; he retreated a pace, bowed to her with equal
courtesy, but with a shade of elegance and deference, and seated himself
at the card-table. The game of preference soon came to an end. Panshin
inquired after Lizaveta Mikhailovna, learned that she did not feel
quite well, and expressed his regrets; then he entered into conversation
with Varvara Pavlovna, weighing and chiselling clearly every word, in
diplomatic fashion, respectfully listening to her replies to the very
end. But the importance of his diplomatic tone had no effect on Varvara
Pavlovna, did not communicate itself to her. Quite the contrary: she
gazed into his face with merry attention, talked in a free-and-easy way,
and her delicate nostrils quivered slightly, as though with suppressed
laughter. Marya Dmitrievna began to extol her talent; Panshin inclined
his head as politely as his collar permitted, declared that "he was
convinced of it in advance,"--and turned the conversation almost on
Metternich himself. Varvara Pavlovna narrowed her velvety eyes, and
saying, in a low tone: "Why, you also are an artist yourself, _un
confrere_,"--added in a still lower tone: "_Venez!_"--and nodded her
head in the direction of the piano. That one carelessly dropped word:
"_Venez!_"--instantaneously, as though by magic, altered Panshin's
entire aspect. His careworn mien vanished; he smiled, became animated,
unbuttoned his coat, and repeating: "What sort of an artist am I, alas!
But you, I hear, are a genuine artist"--wended his way, in company with
Varvara Pavlovna, to the piano.

"Make him sing his romance:--'When the moon floats,'"--exclaimed Marya
Dmitrievna.

"Do you sing?"--said Varvara Pavlovna, illuminating him with a bright,
swift glance.--"Sit down."

Panshin began to decline.

"Sit down,"--she repeated, insistently tapping the back of the chair.

He sat down, coughed, pul