e replied
(unhappy mortal that he was) in the same tone, and with a similar
smile, "_Je crois bien_!" and what is more he did not even say "_Je
crois bien_!" but "_J'crois ben_!"

Varvara Pavlovna gave him a friendly look, and rose from her seat.
At that moment Liza entered the room. Marfa Timofeevna had tried to
prevent her going but in vain. Liza was resolved to endure her trial
to the end. Varvara Pavlovna advanced to meet her, attended by
Panshine, whose face again wore its former diplomatic expression.

"How are you now?" asked Varvara.

"I am better now, thank you," replied Liza.

"We have been passing the time with a little music," said Panshine.
"It is a pity you did not hear Varvara Pavlovna. She sings charmingly,
_en artiste consommee_."

"Come here, _ma chere_," said Madame Kalitine's voice.

With childlike obedience, Varvara immediately went to her, and sat
down on a stool at her feet. Maria Dmitrievna had called her away, in
order that she might leave her daughter alone with Panshine, if only
for a moment. She still hoped in secret that Liza would change her
mind. Besides this, an idea had come into her mind, which she wanted
by all means to express.

"Do you know," she whispered to Varvara Pavlovna, "I want to try and
reconcile you and your husband. I cannot promise to succeed, but I
will try. He esteems me very much, you know."

Varvara slowly looked up at Maria Dmitrievna, and gracefully clasped
her hands together.

"You would be my saviour, _ma tante_," she said, with a sad voice. "I
don't know how to thank you properly for all your kindness; but I am
too guilty before Fedor Ivanovich. He cannot forgive me."

"But did you actually--in reality--?" began Maria Dmitrievna, with
lively curiosity.

"Do not ask me," said Varvara, interrupting her, and then looked
down. "I was young, light headed--However, I don't wish to make
excuses for myself."

"Well, in spite of all that, why not make the attempt? Don't give way
to despair," replied Maria Dmitrievna, and was going to tap her on
the cheek, but looked at her, and was afraid. "She is modest and
discreet," she thought, "but, for all that, a _lionne_ still!"

"Are you unwell?" asked Panshine, meanwhile.

"I am not quite well," replied Liza.

"I understand," he said, after rather a long silence, "Yes, I
understand."

"What do you mean?"

"I understand," significantly repeated Panshine, who simply was at a
loss for something to say.

Li