[Footnote A:  A Russian keeps, not his birthday, but his name-day—­that is, the day set apart by the church in honor of the saint after whom he is called.]

Soon afterwards the priest arrived with his acolytes—­a middle-aged man, with a large bald spot on his head, who coughed loudly in the vestibule.  The ladies immediately came out of the boudoir in a row, and asked him for his blessing.  Lavretsky bowed to them in silence, and they as silently returned his greeting.  The priest remained a little longer where he was, then coughed again, and asked, in a low, deep voice—­

“Do you wish me to begin?”

“Begin, reverend father,” replied Maria Dmitrievna.

The priest began to robe.  An acolyte in a surplice humbly asked for a coal from the fire.  The scent of the incense began to spread around.  The footmen and the maid-servants came in from the ante-chamber and remained standing in a compact body at the door.  The dog Roska, which, as a general rule, never came down-stairs from the upper story, now suddenly made its appearance in the dining room.  The servants tried to drive it out, but it got frightened, first ran about, and then lay down.  At last a footman got hold of it and carried it off.

The service began.  Lavretsky retired into a corner.  His feelings were strange and almost painful.  He himself could not well define what it was that he felt.  Maria Dmitrievna stood in front of the rest, with an arm-chair behind her.  She crossed herself carelessly, languidly, like a great lady.  Sometimes she looked round, at others she suddenly raised her eyes towards the ceiling.  The whole affair evidently bored her.

Marfa Timofeevna seemed pre-occupied.  Nastasia Carpovna bowed down to the ground, and raised herself up again, with a sort of soft and modest sound.  As for Liza, she did not stir from the spot where she was standing, she did not change her position upon it; from the concentrated expression of her face, it was evident that she was praying uninterruptedly and fervently.

At the end of the service she approached the crucifix, and kissed both it and the large red hand of the priest.  Maria Dmitrievna invited him to take tea.  He threw off his stole, assumed a sort of mundane air, and went into the drawing-room with the ladies.  A conversation began, not of a very lively nature.  The priest drank four cups of tea, wiping the bald part of his head the while with his handkerchief, stated among other things that the merchant Avoshnikof had given several hundred roubles towards the gilding of the church’s “cumpola,” and favored the company with an unfailing cure for freckles.

Lavretsky tried to get a seat near Liza, but she maintained her grave, almost austere air, and never once looked at him.  She seemed intentionally to ignore him.  A kind of serious, cold enthusiasm appeared to possess her.  For some reason or other Lavretsky felt inclined to smile, and to utter words of jesting; but his heart was ill at ease, and at last he went away in a state of secret perplexity.  There was something, he felt, in Liza’s mind, which he could not understand.