magic amulet; a monk from Mount Athos made him a present of this amulet.  And he told him, this monk did, “It’s for your kindness, Boyar, I give you this; wear it, and you need not fear judgment.”  Well, but there, little father, we know what those times were like; what the master fancied doing, that he did.  Sometimes, if even some gentleman saw fit to cross him in anything, he would just stare at him and say, “You swim in shallow water;” that was his favourite saying.  And he lived, your great-grandfather of blessed memory, in a small log-house; and what goods he left behind him, what silver, and stores of all kinds!  All the storehouses were full and overflowing.  He was a manager.  That very decanter, that you were pleased to admire, was his; he used to drink brandy out of it.  But there was your grandfather, Piotr Andreitch, built himself a palace of stone, but he never grew rich; everything with him went badly, and he lived worse than his father by far, and he got no pleasure from it for himself, but spent all his money, and now there is nothing to remember him by—­not a silver spoon has come down from him, and we have Glafira Petrovna’s management to thank for all that is saved.

“But is it true,” Lavretsky interrupted him, “they called her the old witch?”

“What sort of people called her so, I should like to know!” replied Anton with an air of displeasure.

“And little father,” the old man one day found courage to ask, “what about our mistress, where is she pleased to fix her residence?”

“I am separated from my wife,” Lavretsky answered with an effort, “please do not ask questions about her.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the old man mournfully.

After three weeks had passed by, Lavretsky rode into O----- to the
Kalitins, and spent an evening with them.  Lemm was there; Lavretsky took
a great liking to him.  Although thanks to his father, he played no
instrument, he was passionately fond of music, real classical music. 
Panshin was not at the Kalitins’ that evening.  The governor had sent him
off to some place out of the town.  Lisa played alone and very correct;
Lemm woke up, got excited, twisted a piece of paper into a roll, and
conducted.  Marya Dmitrievna laughed at first, as she looked at him,
later on she went off to bed; in her own words, Beethoven was too
agitating for her nerves.  At midnight Lavretsky accompanied Lemm to his
lodging and stopped there with him till three o’clock in the morning. 
Lemm talked a great deal; his bent figure grew erect, his eyes opened
wide and flashed fire; his hair even stood up on his forehead.  It was so
long since any one had shown him any sympathy, and Lavretsky was
obviously interested in him, he was plying him with sympathetic and
attentive questions.  This touched the old man; he ended by showing the
visitor his music, played and even sang in a faded voice some extracts
from his works, among others the whole of Schiller’s ballad, Fridolin,