Marfa Timofeevna went away, and Liza sat down in a
corner, and cried a long time. Her heart was
heavy within her. She had not deserved to be
so humiliated. It was not in a joyous manner that
love had made itself known to her. It was for
the second time since yesterday morning that she was
crying now. This new and unlooked-for feeling
had only just sprung into life within her heart, and
already how deafly had she had to pay for it, how
roughly had other hands dealt with her treasured secret!
She felt ashamed, and hurt, and unhappy; but neither
doubt nor fear troubled her, and Lavretsky became
only still dearer to her. She had hesitated so
long as she was not sure of her own feelings; but
after that interview, after that kiss—she
could no longer hesitate. She knew now that she
loved, and that she loved earnestly, honestly; she
knew that her’s was a firm attachment, one which
would last for her whole life. As for threats,
she did not fear them. She felt that this tie
was one which no violence could break.
XXXVII.
Maria Dmitrievna was greatly embarrassed when she
was informed that Madame Lavretsky was at the door.
She did not even know whether she ought to receive
her, being afraid of offending Lavretsky; but at last
curiosity prevailed. “After all,”
she thought, “she is a relation, too.”
So she seated herself in an easy chair, and said to
the footman, “Show her in.”
A few minutes went by, then the door was thrown open,
and Varvara Pavlovna, with a swift and almost noiseless
step, came up to Maria Dmitrievna, and, without giving
her time to rise from her chair, almost went down
upon her knees before her.
“Thank you, aunt,” she began in Russian,
speaking softly, but in a tone of deep emotion.
“Thank you; I had not even dared to hope that
you would condescend so far. You are an angel
of goodness.”
Having said this, Varvara Pavlovna unexpectedly laid
hold of one of Maria Dmitrievna’s hands, gently
pressed it between her pale-lilac Jouvin’s gloves,
and then lifted it respectfully to her pouting, rosy
lips. Maria Dmitrievna was entirely carried away
by the sight of such a handsome and exquisitely dressed
woman almost at her feet, and did not know what position
to assume. She felt half inclined to draw back
her hand, half inclined to make her visitor sit down,
and to say something affectionate to her. She
ended by rising from her chair and kissing Varvara’s
smooth and perfumed forehead.
Varvara appeared to be totally overcome by that kiss.
“How do you do? bonjour,” said
Maria Dmitrievna. “I never imagined—however,
I’m really delighted to see you. You will
understand, my dear, it is not my business to be judge
between a man and his wife.”
“My husband is entirely in the right,”
said Varvara Pavlovna, interrupting her, “I
alone am to blame.”
“Those are very praiseworthy sentiments, very,”
said Maria Dmitrievna. “Is it long since
you arrived? Have you seen him? But do sit
down.”
