Part 18 (1/2)

And, calling her twice an ungrateful girl, Marya Dmitrievna dismissed her.

She went to her own room. But she had not had time to recover from her interviews with Pans.h.i.+n and her mother before another storm broke over head, and this time from a quarter from which she would least have expected it. Marfa Timofyevna came into her room, and at once slammed the door after her. The old lady's face was pale, her cap was awry, her eyes were flas.h.i.+ng, and her hands and lips were trembling. Lisa was astonished; she had never before seen her sensible and reasonable aunt in such a condition.

”A pretty thing, miss,” Marfa Timofyevna began in a shaking and broken whisper, ”a pretty thing! Who taught you such ways, I should like to know, miss?... Give me some water; I can't speak.”

”Calm yourself, auntie, what is the matter?” said Lisa, giving her a gla.s.s of water. ”Why, I thought you did not think much of Mr. Pans.h.i.+n yourself.”

Marfa Timofyevna pushed away the gla.s.s.

”I can't drink; I shall knock my last teeth out if I try to. What's Pans.h.i.+n to do with it? Why bring Pans.h.i.+n in? You had better tell me who has taught you to make appointments at night--eh? miss?”

Lisa turned pale.

”Now, please, don't try to deny it,” pursued Marfa Timofyevna; ”Shurotchka herself saw it all and told me. I have had to forbid her chattering, but she is not a liar.”

”I don't deny it, auntie,” Lisa uttered scarcely audibly.

”Ah, ah! That's it, is it, miss; you made an appointment with him, that old sinner, who seems so meek?”

”No.”

”How then?”

”I went down into the drawing-room for a book; he was in the garden--and he called me.”

”And you went? A pretty thing! So you love him, eh?”

”I love him,” answered Lisa softly.

”Merciful Heavens! She loves him!” Marfa Timofyevna s.n.a.t.c.hed off her cap. ”She loves a married man! Ah! she loves him.”

”He told me”...began Lisa.

”What has he told you, the scoundrel, eh?”

”He told me that his wife was dead.”

Marfa Timofyevna crossed herself. ”Peace be with her,” she muttered; ”she was a vain hussy, G.o.d forgive her. So, then, he's a widower, I suppose. And he's losing no time, I see. He has buried one wife and now he's after another. He's a nice person: only let me tell you one thing, niece; in my day, when I was young, harm came to young girls from such goings on. Don't be angry with me, my girl, only fools are angry at the truth. I have given orders not to admit him to-day. I love him, but I shall never forgive him for this. Upon my word, a widower! Give me some water. But as for your sending Pans.h.i.+n about his business, I think you're a first-rate girl for that. Only don't you go sitting of nights with any animals of that sort; don't break my old heart, or else you'll see I'm not all fondness--I can bite too... a widower!”

Marfa Timofyevna went off, and Lisa sat down in a corner and began to cry. There was bitterness in her soul. She had not deserved such humiliation. Love had proved no happiness to her: she was weeping for a second time since yesterday evening. This new unexpected feeling had only just arisen in her heart, and already what a heavy price she had paid for it, how coa.r.s.ely had strange hands touched her sacred secret.

She felt ashamed, and bitter, and sick; but she had no doubt and no dread--and Lavretsky was dearer to her than ever. She had hesitated while she did not understand herself; but after that meeting, after that kiss--she could hesitate no more: she knew that she loved, and now she loved honestly and seriously, she was bound firmly for all her life, and she did not fear reproaches. She felt that by no violence could they break that bond.

Chapter x.x.xIX

Marya Dmitrievna was much agitated when she received the announcement of the arrival of Varvara Pavlovna Lavretsky, she did not even know whether to receive her; she was afraid of giving offence to Fedor Ivanitch. At last curiosity prevailed. ”Why,” she reflected, ”she too is a relation,”

and, taking up her position in an arm-chair, she said to the footman, ”Show her in.” A few moments pa.s.sed; the door opened, Varvara Pavlovna swiftly and with scarcely audible steps, approached Marya Dmitrievna, and not allowing her to rise from her chair, bent almost on her knees before her.

”I thank you, dear aunt,” she began in a soft voice full of emotion, speaking Russian; ”I thank you; I did not hope for such condescension on your part; you are an angel of goodness.”