ot out of that old lady, so she
gave up talking to her. On the other hand Madame Kalitine became still
more caressing in her behavior towards her guest. She was vexed by her
aunt's rudeness.

After all, it was not only Varvara that the old lady would not look
at. She did not once look at Liza either, although her eyes almost
glowed with a meaning light. Pale, almost yellow, there she sat, with
compressed lips, looking as if she were made of stone, and would eat
nothing.

As for Liza, she seemed calm, and was so in reality. Her heart was
quieter than it had been. A strange callousness, the callousness of
the condemned, had come over her.

During dinner Varvara Pavlovna said little. She seemed to have become
timid again, and her face wore an expression of modest melancholy.
Gedeonovsky was the only person who kept the conversation alive,
relating several of his stories, though from time to time he looked
timidly at Marfa Timofeevna and coughed. That cough always seized him
whenever he was going to embellish the truth in her presence. But this
time she did not meddle with him, never once interrupted him.

After dinner it turned out that Varvara Pavlovna was very fond of the
game of preference. Madame Kalitine was so pleased at this that she
felt quite touched and inwardly thought, "Why, what a fool Fedor
Ivanovich must be! Fancy not having been able to comprehend such a
woman!"

She sat down to cards with Varvara and Gedeonov sky; but Marfa
Timofeevna carried off Liza to her room up-stairs, saying that the
girl "had no face left," and she was sure her head must be aching.

"Yes, her head aches terribly," said Madame Kalitine, addressing
Varvara Pavlovna, and rolling her eyes. "I often have such headaches
myself."

"Really!" answered Varvara Pavlovna.

Liza entered her aunt's room, and sank on a chair perfectly worn out.
For a long time Marfa Timofeevna looked at her in silence, then she
quietly knelt down before her, and began, still quite silently, to
kiss her hands--first one, and then the other.

Liza bent forwards and reddened--then she began to cry; but she did
not make her aunt rise, nor did she withdraw her hands from her. She
felt that she had no right to withdraw them--had no right to prevent
the old lady from expressing her sorrow, her sympathy--from asking
to be pardoned for what had taken place the day before. And Marfa
Timofeevna could not sufficiently kiss those poor, pale, nerveless
hands; while