c."

"From what singing, aunty?"

"Why, of course, they keep singing--what do you call it?--duets. And
always in Italian: _tchi-tchi_, and _tcha-tcha_, regular magpies. They
begin to drag the notes out, and it's just like tugging at your soul.
Panshin and that wife of yours. And all that has come about so quickly;
already they are on the footing of relatives, they do not stand on
ceremony. However, I will say this much: even a dog seeks a refuge; no
harm will come to her, so long as people don't turn her out."

"Nevertheless, I must confess that I did not expect this,"--replied
Lavretzky:--"it must have required great boldness."

"No, my dear soul, that is not boldness; it is calculation. The Lord be
with her--I want nothing to do with her! They tell me that thou art
sending her to Lavriki,--is it true?"

"Yes, I am placing that estate at the disposal of Varvara Pavlovna."

"Has she asked for money?"

"Not yet."

"Well, it will not be long before she does. But I have only just taken a
good look at thee. Art thou well?"

"Yes."

"Schurotchka,"--suddenly cried Marfa Timofeevna:--"go, and tell
Lizaveta Mikhailovna--that is to say, no, ask her ... she's down-stairs,
isn't she?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well, yes; then ask her: 'Where did she put my book?' She knows."

"I obey, ma'am."

Again the old woman began to bustle about, and to open the drawers of her
commode. Lavretzky sat motionless on his chair.

Suddenly light footsteps became audible on the stairs--and Liza entered.
Lavretzky rose to his feet, and bowed; Liza halted by the door.

"Liza, Lizotchka,"--said Marfa Timofeevna hastily;--"where is my book,
where didst thou put my book?"

"What book, aunty?"

"Why, my book; good heavens! However, I did not call thee.... Well, it
makes no difference. What are you doing there--down-stairs? See here,
Feodor Ivanitch has come.--How is thy head?"

"It is all right."

"Thou art always saying: 'It is all right.' What's going on with you
down-stairs,--music again?"

"No--they are playing cards."

"Yes, of course, she is up to everything. Schurotchka, I perceive that
thou wishest to have a run in the garden. Go along."

"Why, no, Marfa Timofeevna...."

"Don't argue, if you please. Go! Nastasya Karpovna has gone into the
garden alone: stay with her. Respect the old woman."--Schurotchka left
the room.--"Why, where is my cap? Really, now, where has it got to?"

"Pray let me look for it,"--said Liza.

"Si