Such was Liza.
About the middle of the next day Lavretsky went to
the Kalitines’. On his way there he met
Panshine, who galloped past on horseback, his hat
pulled low over his eyes. At the Kalitines’,
Lavretsky was not admitted, for the first time since
he had made acquaintance with the family. Maria
Dmitrievna was asleep, the footman declared; her head
ached, Marfa Timofeevna and Lizaveta Mikhailovna were
not at home.
Lavretsky walked round the outside of the garden in
the vague hope of meeting Liza, but he saw no one.
Two hours later he returned to the house, but received
the same answer as before; moreover, the footman looked
at him in a somewhat marked manner. Lavretsky
thought it would be unbecoming to call three times
in one day, so he determined to drive out to Vasilievskoe,
where, moreover, he had business to transact.
On his way there he framed various plans, each one
more charming than the rest. But on his arrival
at his aunt’s estate, sadness took hold of him.
He entered into conversation with Anton; but the old
man, as if purposely, would dwell on none but gloomy
ideas. He told Lavretsky how Glafira Petrovna,
just before her death, had bitten her own hand.
And then, after an interval of silence, he added with
a sigh, “Every man, barin batyushka,[A]
is destined to devour himself.”
[Footnote A: Seigneur, father.]
It was late in the day before Lavretsky set out on
his return. The music he had heard the night
before came back into his mind, and the image of Liza
dawned on his heart in all its sweet serenity.
He was touched by the thought that she loved him;
and he arrived at his little house in the town, tranquillized
and happy.
The first thing that struck him when he entered the
vestibule, was a smell of patchouli, a perfume he
disliked exceedingly. He observed that a number
of large trunks and boxes were standing there, and
he thought there was a strange expression on the face
of the servant who hastily came to meet him.
He did not stop to analyze his impressions, but went
straight into the drawing-room.
A lady, who wore a black silk dress with flounces,
and whose pale face was half hidden by a cambric handkerchief,
rose from the sofa, took a few steps to meet him,
bent her carefully-arranged and perfumed locks—and
fell at his feet. Then for the first time, he
recognized her. That lady was his wife!
His breathing stopped. He leaned against the
wall.
“Do not drive me from you, Theodore!”
she said in French; and her voice cut him to the heart
like a knife. He looked at her without comprehending
what he saw, and yet, at the same time, he involuntarily
remarked that she had grown paler and stouter.
