Marfa Timofyevna went off, and Lisa sat down in a corner and began to cry.  There was bitterness in her soul.  She had not deserved such humiliation.  Love had proved no happiness to her:  she was weeping for a second time since yesterday evening.  This new unexpected feeling had only just arisen in her heart, and already what a heavy price she had paid for it, how coarsely had strange hands touched her sacred secret.  She felt ashamed, and bitter, and sick; but she had no doubt and no dread—­and Lavretsky was dearer to her than ever.  She had hesitated while she did not understand herself; but after that meeting, after that kiss—­she could hesitate no more:  she knew that she loved, and now she loved honestly and seriously, she was bound firmly for all her life, and she did not fear reproaches.  She felt that by no violence could they break that bond.

Chapter XXXIX

Marya Dmitrievna was much agitated when she received the announcement of the arrival of Varvara Pavlovna Lavretsky, she did not even know whether to receive her; she was afraid of giving offence to Fedor Ivanitch.  At last curiosity prevailed.  “Why,” she reflected, “she too is a relation,” and, taking up her position in an arm-chair, she said to the footman, “Show her in.”  A few moments passed; the door opened, Varvara Pavlovna swiftly and with scarcely audible steps, approached Marya Dmitrievna, and not allowing her to rise from her chair, bent almost on her knees before her.

“I thank you, dear aunt,” she began in a soft voice full of emotion, speaking Russian; “I thank you; I did not hope for such condescension on your part; you are an angel of goodness.”

As she uttered these words Varvara Pavlovna quite unexpectedly took possession of one of Marya Dmitrievna’s hands, and pressing it lightly in her pale lavender gloves, she raised it in a fawning way to her full rosy lips.  Marya Dmitrievna quite lost her head, seeing such a handsome and charmingly dressed woman almost at her feet.  She did not know where she was.  And she tried to withdraw her hand, while, at the same time, she was inclined to make her sit down, and to say something affectionate to her.  She ended by raising Varvara Pavlovna and kissing her on her smooth perfumed brow.

Varvara Pavlovna was completely overcome by this kiss.

“How do you do, bonjour,” said Marya Dmitrievna.  “Of course I did not expect . . . but, of course, I am glad to see you.  You understand, my dear, it’s not for me to judge between man and wife” . . .

“My husband is in the right in everything,” Varvara Pavlovna interposed; “I alone am to blame.”

“That is a very praiseworthy feeling” rejoined Marya Dmitrievna, “very.  Have you been here long?  Have you seen him?  But sit down, please.”

“I arrived yesterday,” answered Varvara Pavlovna, sitting down meekly.  “I have seen Fedor Ivanitch; I have talked with him.”