“I arrived yesterday,” answered Varvara Pavlovna, seating herself on a chair in an attitude expressive of humility.  “I have seen my husband, and I have spoken with him.”

“Ah!  Well, and what did he say?”

“I was afraid that my coming so suddenly might make him angry,” continued Varvara Pavlovna; “but he did not refuse to see me.”

“That is to say, he has not—­Yes, yes, I understand,” said Maria Dmitrievna.  “It is only outwardly that he seems a little rough; his heart is really soft.”

“Fedor Ivanovich has not pardoned me.  He did not want to listen to me.  But he has been good enough to let me have Lavriki to live in.”

“Ah, a lovely place!”

“I shall set off there to-morrow, according to his desire.  But I considered it a duty to pay you a visit first.”

“I am very, very much obliged to you my dear.  One ought never to forget one’s relations.  But do you know I am astonished at your speaking Russian so well. C’est etonnant.”

Varvara Pavlovna smiled.

“I have been too long abroad, Maria Dmitrievna, I am well aware of that.  But my heart has always been Russian, and I have not forgotten my native land.”

“Yes, yes.  There’s nothing like that.  Your husband certainly didn’t expect you in the least.  Yes, trust my experience—­la patrie avant tout.  Oh! please let me!  What a charming mantilla you have on!”

“Do you like it?” Varvara took it quickly off her shoulders.  “It is very simple; one of Madame Baudran’s.”

“One can see that at a glance.  How lovely, and in what exquisite taste!  I feel sure you’ve brought a number of charming things with you.  How I should like to see them!”

“All my toilette is at your service, dearest aunt.  I might show your maid something if you liked.  I have brought a maid from Paris, a wonderful needle-woman.”

“You are exceedingly good, my dear.  But, really, I haven’t the conscience—­”

“Haven’t the conscience!” repeated Varvara Pavlovna, in a reproachful tone.  “If you wish to make me happy, you will dispose of me as if I belonged to you.”

Maria Dmitrievna fairly gave way.

“Vous etes charmante,” she said.  But why don’t you take off your bonnet and gloves?”

“What!  You allow me?” asked Varvara Pavlovna, gently clasping her hands with an air of deep emotion.

“Of course.  You will dine with us, I hope.  I—­I will introduce my daughter to you.” (Maria Dmitrievna felt embarrassed for a moment, but then, “Well, so be it,” she thought.) “She happens not to be quite well to-day.’

“Oh! ma tante, how kind you are!” exclaimed Varvara Pavlovna, lifting her handkerchief to her eyes.

At this moment the page announced Gedeonovsky’s arrival, and the old gossip came in smiling, and bowing profoundly.  Maria Dmitrievna introduced him to her visitor.  At first he was somewhat abashed, but Varvara Pavlovna behaved to him with such coquettish respectfulness that his ears soon began to tingle, and amiable speeches and gossiping stories began to flow uninterruptedly from his lips.