Lavretsky eyed her with a look of hate, feeling hardly able to abstain from crying brava, hardly able to abstain from striking her down—­and went away.

An hour later he was already on the road to Vasilievskoe, and two hours later Varvara Pavlovna ordered the best carriage on hire in the town to be got for her, put on a simple straw hat with a black veil, and a modest mantilla, left Justine in charge of Ada, and went to the Kalitines’.  From the inquiries Justine had made, Madame Lavretsky had learnt that her husband was in the habit of going there every day.

XXXVI.

The day on which Lavretsky’s wife arrived in O.—­sad day for him—­was also a day of trial for Liza.  Before she had had time to go down-stairs and say good morning to her mother, the sound of a horse’s hoofs was heard underneath the window, and, with a secret feeling of alarm, she saw Panshine ride into the court-yard.  “It is to get a definite answer that he has come so early,” she thought; and she was not deceived.  After taking a turn through the drawing-room, he proposed to go into the garden with her; and when there he asked her how his fate was to be decided.

Liza summoned up her courage, and told him that she could not be his wife.  He listened to all she had to say, turning himself a little aside, with his hat pressed down over his eyes.  Then, with perfect politeness, but in an altered tone, he asked her if that was her final decision, and whether he had not, in some way or other, been the cause of such a change in her ideas.  Then he covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, breathed one quick sigh, and took his hand away from his face.

“I wanted to follow the beaten track,” he said sadly; “I wanted to choose a companion for myself according to the dictates of my heart.  But I see that it is not to be.  So farewell to my fancy!”

He made Liza a low bow, and went back into the house.

She hoped he would go away directly; but he went to her mother’s boudoir, and remained an hour with her.  As he was leaving the house he said to Liza, “Votre mere vous appelle:  Adieu a jamais!” then he got on his horse, and immediately set off at full gallop.

On going to her mother’s room, Liza found her in tears.  Panshine had told her about his failure.

“Why should you kill me?  Why should you kill me?” Thus did the mortified widow begin her complaint.  “What better man do you want?  Why is he not fit to be your husband?  A chamberlain! and so disinterested Why, at Petersburg he might marry any of the maids of honor!  And I—­I had so longed for it.  And how long is it since you changed your mind about him?  Wherever has this cloud blown from?—­for it has never come of its own accord.  Surely it isn’t that wiseacre?  A pretty adviser you have found, if that’s the case!”

“And as for him, my poor, dear friend,” continued Maria Dmitrievna, “how respectful he was, how attentive, even in the midst of his sorrow!  He has promised not to desert me.  Oh, I shall never be able to bear this!  Oh, my head is beginning to ache dreadfully!  Send Palashka here.  You will kill me, if you don’t think better of it.  Do you hear?” And then, after having told Liza two or three times that she was ungrateful, Maria Dmitrievna let her go away.