“What a chatterbox she is, Lord save us!” muttered Marfa Timofyevna.  “She told you, I suppose, as a secret that he has turned up as a suitor.  She might have whispered it to her priest’s son; no, he’s not good enough for her, it seems.  And so far there’s nothing to tell, thank God, but already she’s gossiping about it.”

“Why thank God?” asked Lavretsky.

“Because I don’t like the fine young gentleman; and so what is there to be glad of in it?”

“You don’t like him?”

“No, he can’t fascinate every one.  He must be satisfied with Nastasya Karpovna’s being in love with him.”

The poor widow was utterly dismayed.

“How can you, Marfa Timofyevna? you’ve no conscience!” she cried, and a crimson flush instantly overspread her face and neck.

“And he knows, to be sure, the rogue,” Marfa Timofyevna interrupted her, “he knows how to captivate her; he made her a present of a snuff-box.  Fedya, ask her for a pinch of snuff; you will see what a splendid snuff-box it is; on the lid a hussar on horseback.  You’d better not try to defend yourself, my dear.”

Nastasya Karpovna could only fling up her hands.

“Well, but Lisa,” inquired Lavretsky, “is she indifferent to him?”

“She seems to like him, but there, God knows!  The heart of another, you know, is a dark forest, and a girl’s more than any.  Shurotchka’s heart, for instance—­I defy you to understand it!  What makes her hide herself and not come out ever since you came in?”

Shurotchka choked with suppressed laughter and skipped out of the room.  Lavretsky rose from his place.

“Yes,” he said in an uncertain voice, “there is no deciphering a girl’s heart.”

He began to say good-bye.

“Well, shall we see you again soon?” inquired Marfa Timofyevna.

“Very likely, aunt:  it’s not far off, you know.”

“Yes, to be sure you are going to Vassilyevskoe.  You don’t care to stay at Lavriky:  well, that’s your own affair, only mind you go and say a prayer at our mother’s grave, and our grandmother’s too while you are there.  Out there in foreign parts you have picked up all kinds of ideas, but who knows?  Perhaps even in their graves they will feel that you have come to them.  And, Fedya, don’t forget to have a service sung too for Glafira Petrovna; here’s a silver rouble for you.  Take it, take it, I want to pay for a service for her.  I had no love for her in her lifetime, but all the same there’s no denying she was a girl of character.  She was a clever creature; and a good friend to you.  And now go and God be with you, before I weary you.”

And Marfa Timofyevna embraced her nephew.

“And Lisa’s not going to marry Panshin; don’t you trouble yourself; that’s not the sort of husband she deserves.”

“Oh, I’m not troubling myself,” answered Lavretsky, and went away.

Chapter XVIII