Liza; Or, "A Nest of Nobles". Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

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СКАЧАТЬ you were going to loiter abroad. Well, well! You are a fine fellow—a very fine fellow. I dare say you can still lift ten poods[A] with one hand, as you used to do. Your late father, if you'll excuse my saying so, was as nonsensical as he could be, but he did well in getting you that Swiss tutor. Do you remember the boxing matches you used to have with him? Gymnastics, wasn't it, you used to call them? But why should I go on cackling like this? I shall only prevent Monsieur Pan_shine_ (she never laid the accent on the first syllable of his name, as she ought to have done) from favoring us with his opinions. On the whole, we had much better go and have tea. Yes, let's go and have it on the terrace. We have magnificent cream—not like what they have in your Londons and Parises. Come away, come away; and you, Fediouchka, give me your arm. What a strong arm you have, to be sure! I shan't fall while you're by my side."

      [Footnote A: The pood weighs thirty-six pounds.]

      Every one rose and went out on the terrace, except Gedeonovsky, who slipped away stealthily. During the whole time Lavretsky was talking with the mistress of the house, with Panshine and with Marfa Timofeevna, that old gentleman had been sitting in his corner, squeezing up his eyes and shooting out his lips, while he listened with the curiosity of a child to all that was being said. When he left, it was that he might hasten to spread through the town the news of the recent arrival.

      Here is a picture of what was taking place at eleven o'clock that same evening in the Kalitines' house. Down stairs, on the threshold of the drawing-room, Panshine was taking leave of Liza, and saying, as he held her hand in his:—

      "You know who it is that attracts me here; you know why I am always coming to your house. Of what use are words when all is so clear?"

      Liza did not say a word in reply—she did not ever smile. Slightly arching her eyebrows, and growing rather red, she kept her eyes fixed on the ground, but did not withdraw her hand. Up stairs, in Marfa Timofeevna's room, the light of the lamp, which hung in the corner before the age-embrowned sacred pictures, fell on Lavretsky, as he sat in an arm-chair, his elbows resting on his knees, his face hidden in his hands. In front of him stood the old lady, who from time to time silently passed her hand over his hair. He spent more than an hour with her after taking leave of the mistress of the house, he scarcely saying a word to his kind old friend, and she not asking him any questions. And why should he have spoken? what could she have asked? She understood all so well, she so fully sympathized with all the feelings which filled his heart.

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