She received him with her usual languid amiability, and by degrees began to talk.

“Tell me,” she asked him, “is not Vladimir Nikolaevich a very agreeable young man?”

“Who is Vladimir Nikolaevich?”

“Why Panshine, you know, who was here yesterday.  He was immensely delighted with you.  Between ourselves I may mention, mon cher cousin, that he is perfectly infatuated with my Liza.  Well, he is of good family, he is getting on capitally in the service, he is clever, and besides he is a chamberlain; and if such be the will of God—­I, for my part, as a mother, shall be glad of it.  It is certainly a great responsibility; most certainly the happiness of children depends upon their parents.  But this much must be allowed.  Up to the present time, whether well or ill, I have done every thing myself, and entirely by myself.  I have brought up my children and taught them every thing myself—­and now I have just written to Maclame Bulous for a governess—­”

Maria Dmitrievna launched out into a description of her cares, her efforts, her maternal feelings.  Lavretsky listened to her in silence, and twirled his hat in his hands.  His cold, unsympathetic look at last disconcerted the talkative lady.

“And what do you think of Liza?” she asked.

“Lizaveta Mikhailovna is an exceedingly handsome girl,” replied Lavretsky.  Then he got up, said good-bye, and went to pay Marfa Timofeevna a visit.  Maria Dmitrievna looked after him with an expression of dissatisfaction, and thought to herself, “What a bear! what a moujik!  Well, now I understand why his wife couldn’t remain faithful to him.”

Marfa Timofeevna was sitting in her room, surrounded by her court.  This consisted of five beings, almost equally dear to her heart—­an educated bullfinch, to which she had taken an affection because it could no longer whistle or draw water, and which was afflicted with a swollen neck; a quiet and exceedingly timid little dog, called Roska; a bad-tempered cat, named Matros; a dark-complexioned, lively little girl of nine, with very large eyes and a sharp nose, whose name was Shurochka[A]; and an elderly lady of about fifty-five, who wore a white cap and a short, cinnamon-colored katsaveika[B] over a dark gown, and whose name was Nastasia Carpovna Ogarkof.

[Footnote A:  One of the many diminutives of Alexandrina.]

[Footnote B:  A kind of jacket worn by women.]

Shurochka was a fatherless and motherless girl, whose relations belonged to the lowest class of the bourgeoisie.  Marfa Timofeevna had adopted her, as well as Roska, out of pity.  She had found both the dog and the girl out in the streets.  Both of them were thin and cold; the autumn rain had drenched them both.  No one ever claimed Roska, and as to Shurochka, she was even gladly given up to Marfa Timofeevna by her uncle, a drunken shoemaker, who never had enough to eat himself, and could still less provide food for his niece, whom he used to hit over the head with his last.