into the feelings of others, which was peculiar to him, soon guessed that he was not giving his companion any special satisfaction, and made a plausible excuse to go away, inwardly deciding that Lavretsky might be an “excellent man,” but he was unattractive, aigri, and, en somme, rather absurd.  Marya Dmitrievna made her appearance escorted by Gedeonovsky, then Marfa Timofyevna and Lisa came in; and after them the other members of the household; and then the musical amateur, Madame Byelenitsin, arrived, a little thinnish lady, with a languid, pretty, almost childish little face, wearing a rusting dress, a striped fan, and heavy gold bracelets.  Her husband was with her, a fat red-faced man, with large hands and feet, white eye-lashes, and an immovable smile on his thick lips; his wife never spoke to him in company, but at home, in moments of tenderness, she used to call him her little sucking-pig.  Panshin returned; the rooms were very full of people and noise.  Such a crowd was not to Lavretsky’s taste; and he was particularly irritated by Madame Byelenitsin, who kept staring at him through her eye-glasses.  He would have gone away at once but for Lisa; he wanted to say a few words to her alone, but for a long time he could not get a favourable opportunity, and had to content himself with following her in secret delight with his eyes; never had her face seemed sweeter and more noble to him.  She gained much from being near Madame Byelenitsin.  The latter was for ever fidgeting in her chair, shrugging her narrow shoulders, giving little girlish giggles, and screwing up her eyes and then opening them wide; Lisa sat quietly, looked directly at every one and did not laugh at all.  Madame Kalitin sat down to a game of cards with Marfa Timofyevna, Madame Byelenitsin, and Gedeonovsky, who played very slowly, and constantly made mistakes, frowning and wiping his face with his handkerchief.  Panshin assumed a melancholy air, and expressed himself in brief, pregnant, and gloomy phrases, played the part, in fact, of the unappreciated genius, but in spite of the entreaties of Madame Byelenitsin, who was very coquettish with him, he would not consent to sing his son; he felt Lavretsky’s presence a constraint.  Fedor Ivanitch also spoke little the peculiar expression of his face struck Lisa directly he came into the room; she felt at once that he had something to tell her, and though she could not herself have said why, she was afraid to question him.  At last, as she was going into the next room to pour out tea, she involuntarily turned her head in his direction.  He at once went after her.

“What is the matter?” she said, setting the teapot on the samovar.

“Why, have you noticed anything?” he asked.

“You are not the same to-day as I have always seen you before.”

Lavretsky bent over the table.

“I wanted,” he began, “to tell you a piece of news, but now it is impossible.  However, you can read what is marked with pencil in that article,” he added, handing her the paper he had brought with him.  “Let me ask you to keep it a secret; I will come to-morrow morning.”