Lavretsky hastened to assure her that he had not the slightest desire to smoke.

“Have you been down-stairs?” asked the old lady.  “Whom did you find there?  Is Panshine always hanging about there?  But did you see Liza?  No?  She was to have come here.  Why there she is—­as soon as one mentions her.”

Liza came into the room, caught sight of Lavretsky and blushed.

“I have only come for a moment, Marfa Timofeevna,” she was beginning.

“Why for a moment?” asked the old lady.  “Why are all you young people so restless?  You see I have a visitor there.  Chat a little with him, amuse him.”

Liza sat down on the edge of a chair, raised her eyes to Lavretsky, and felt at once that she could not do otherwise than let him know how her interview with Panshine had ended.  But how was that to be managed?  She felt at the same time confused and ashamed.  Was it so short a time since she had become acquainted with that man, one who scarcely ever went to church even, and who bore the death of his wife so equably? and yet here she was already communicating her secrets to him.  It was true that he took an interest in her; and that, on her side she trusted him, and felt herself drawn towards him.  But in spite of all this, she felt a certain kind of modest shame—­as if a stranger had entered her pure maiden chamber.

Marfa Timofeevna came to her rescue.

“Well, if you will not amuse him,” she said, “who is to amuse him, poor fellow?  I am too old for him; he is too clever for me; and as to Nastasia Carpovna, he is too old for her.  It’s only boys she cares for.”

“How can I amuse Fedor Ivanovich?” said Liza.  “I would rather play him something on the piano, if he likes,” she continued irresolutely.

“That’s capital.  You’re a clever creature,” replied Marfa Timofeevna.  “Go down-stairs, my dears.  Come back again when you’ve clone; but just now, here I’m left the durachka,[A] so I’m savage.  I must have my revenge.”

[Footnote A:  In the game of durachki, the player who remains the last is called the durachok or durachka, diminutive of durak, a fool.  The game somewhat resembles our own “Old Bachelor” or “Old Maid.”]

Liza rose from her chair, and so did Lavretsky.  As she was going down-stairs, Liza stopped.

“What they say is true,” she began.  “The human heart is full of contradictions.  Your example ought to have frightened me—­ought to have made me distrust marrying for love, and yet I—­“.

“You’ve refused him?” said Lavretsky, interrupting her.

“No; but I have not accepted him either.  I told him every thing—­all my feelings on the subject—­and I asked him to wait a little.  Are you satisfied?” she asked with a sudden smile:  and letting her hand skim lightly along the balustrade, she ran down-stairs.

“What shall I play you?” she asked, as she opened the piano.