Liza bent forwards and reddened—­then she began to cry; but she did not make her aunt rise, nor did she withdraw her hands from her.  She felt that she had no right to withdraw them—­had no right to prevent the old lady from expressing her sorrow, her sympathy—­from asking to be pardoned for what had taken place the day before.  And Marfa Timofeevna could not sufficiently kiss those poor, pale, nerveless hands; while silent tears poured down from her eyes and from Liza’s too.  And the cat, Matros, purred in the large chair by the side of the stocking and the ball of worsted; the long, thin flame of the little lamp feebly wavered in front of the holy picture; and in the next room, just the other side of the door, stood Nastasia Carpovna, and furtively wiped her eyes with a check pocket-handkerchief, rolled up into a sort of ball.

XXXVIII.

Down-stairs, meanwhile, the game of preference went on.  Maria Dmitrievna was winning, and was in a very good humor.  A servant entered and announced Panshine’s arrival.  Maria Dmitrievna let fall her cards, and fidgeted in her chair.  Varvara Pavlovna looked at her with a half-smile, and then turned her eyes towards the door.

Panshine appeared in a black dress-coat, buttoned all the way up, and wearing a high English shirt-collar.  “It was painful for me to obey; but, you see, I have come;” that was what was expressed by his serious face, evidently just shaved for the occasion.

“Why, Valdemar!” exclaimed Maria Dmitrievna, “you used always to come in without being announced.”

Panshine made no other reply than a look, and bowed politely to Maria Dmitrievna, but did not kiss her hand.  She introduced him to Varvara Pavlovna.  He drew back a pace, bowed to her with the same politeness and with an added expression of respectful grace, and then took a seat at the card-table.  The game soon came to an end.  Panshine asked after Lizaveta Mikhailovna, and expressed his regret at hearing that she was not quite well.  Then he began to converse with Varvara Pavlovna, weighing every word carefully and emphasizing it distinctly in true diplomatic style, and, when she spoke, respectfully hearing her answers to the end.  But the seriousness of his diplomatic tone produced no effect upon Varvara Pavlovna, who would have nothing to do with it.  On the contrary, she looked him full in the face with a sort of smiling earnestness, and in talking with him seemed thoroughly at her ease, while her delicate nostrils lightly quivered, as though with suppressed laughter.