They looked at one another without speaking.
“Well, what have you to say?” Lavretsky
brought out at last.
“What have I to say?” returned Lemm, grimly.
“I have nothing to say. All is dead, and
we are dead (Alles ist todt, und wir sind todt).
So you’re going to the right, are you?”
“Yes.”
“And I go to the left. Good-bye.”
The following morning Fedor Ivanitch set off with
his wife for Lavriky. She drove in front in the
carriage with Ada and Justine; he behind, in the coach.
The pretty little girl did not move away from the window
the whole journey; she was astonished at everything;
the peasants, the women, the wells, the yokes over
the horses’ heads, the bells and the flocks
of crows. Justine shared her wonder. Varvara
Pavlovna laughed at their remarks and exclamations.
She was in excellent spirits; before leaving town,
she had come to an explanation with her husband.
“I understand your position,” she said
to him, and from the look in her subtle eyes, he was
able to infer that she understood his position fully,
“but you must do me, at least, this justice,
that I am easy to live with; I will not fetter you
or hinder you; I wanted to secure Ada’s future,
I want nothing more.”
“Well, you have obtained your object,”
observed Fedor Ivanitch.
“I only dream of one thing now: to hide
myself for ever in obscurity. I shall remember
your goodness always.”
“Enough of that,” he interrupted.
“And I shall know how to respect your independence
and tranquillity,” she went on, completing the
phrases she had prepared.
Lavretsky made her a low bow.
Varvara Pavlovna then believed her husband was thanking
her in his heart.
On the evening of the next day they reached Lavriky;
a week later, Lavretsky set off for Moscow, leaving
his wife five thousand roubles for her household expenses;
and the day after Lavretsky’s departure, Panshin
made his appearance. Varvara Pavlovna had begged
him not to forget her in her solitude. She gave
him the best possible reception, and, till a late
hour of the night, the lofty apartments of the house
and even the garden re-echoed with the sound of music,
singing, and lively French talk. For three days
Varvara Pavlovna entertained Panshin; when he took
leave of her, warmly pressing her lovely hands, he
promised to come back very soon—and he
kept his word.
Lisa had a room to herself on the second story of
her mother’s house, a clean bright little room
with a little white bed, with pots of flowers in the
corners and before the windows, a small writing-table,
a book-stand, and a crucifix on the wall. It
was always called the nursery; Lisa had been born
in it. When she returned from the church where
she had seen Lavretsky she set everything in her room
in order more carefully than usual, dusted it everywhere,
