Liza went to her room.  But before she had had a moment’s breathing-time after her scene with Panshine and with her mother, another storm burst upon her, and that from the quarter from which she least expected it.

Marfa Timofeevna suddenly came into her room, and immediately shut the door after her.  The old lady’s face was pale; her cap was all awry; her eyes were flashing, her lips quivering.  Liza was lost in astonishment.  She had never seen her shrewd and steady aunt in such a state before.

“Very good, young lady!” Marfa Timofeevna began to whisper, with a broken and trembling voice.  “Very good!  Only who taught that, my mother—­Give me some water; I can’t speak.”

“Do be calm, aunt.  What is the matter?” said Liza, giving her a glass of water.  “Why, I thought you didn’t like M. Panshine yourself.”

Marfa Timofeevna pushed the glass away.  “I can’t drink it.  I should knock out my last teeth, if I tried.  What has Panshine to do with it?  Whatever have we to do with Panshine?  Much better tell me who taught you to make appointments with people at night.  Eh, my mother!”

Liza turned very pale.

“Don’t try to deny it, please,” continued Marfa Timofeevna.  “Shurochka saw it all herself, and told me.  I’ve had to forbid her chattering, but she never tells lies.".—­

“I am not going to deny it, aunt,” said Liza, in a scarcely audible voice.

“Ah, ah!  Then it is so, my mother.  You made an appointment with him, that old sinner, that remarkably sweet creature!”

“No.”

“How was it, then?”

“I came down to the drawing-room to look for a book.  He was in the garden; and he called me.”

“And you went?  Very good, indeed!  Perhaps you love him, then?”

“I do love him,” said Liza quietly.

“Oh, my mothers!  She does love him!” Here Marfa Timofeevna took off her cap.  “She loves a married man!  Eh?  Loves him!”

“He had told me—­” began Liza.

“What he had told you, this little hawk?  Eh, what?”

“He had told me that his wife was dead.”

Marfa Timofeevna made the sign of the cross.  “The kingdom of heaven be to her,” she whispered.  “She was a frivolous woman.  But don’t let’s think about that.  So that’s how it is.  I see, he’s a widower.  Oh yes, he’s going ahead.  He has killed one wife, and now he’s after a second.  A nice sort of person he is, to be sure.  But, niece, let me tell you this, in my young days things of this kind used to turn out very badly for girls.  Don’t be angry with me, my mother.  It’s only tools who are angry with the truth.  I’ve even told them not to let him in to see me to-day.  I love him, but I shall never forgive him for this.  So he is a widower!  Give me some water.  But as to your putting Panshine’s nose out of joint, why I think you’re a good girl for that.  But don’t go sitting out at night with men creatures.  Don’t make me wretched in my old age, and remember that I’m not altogether given over to fondling.  I can bite, too—­A widower!”