“I did not hear it,” declared the new-comer, in very bad Russian, and exchanging greetings with every one, he stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. “Have you come, Monsieur Lemm,” said Marya Dmitrievna, “to give Lisa her music lesson?” “No, not Lisaveta Mihalovna, but Elena Mihalovna.” “Oh! very well. Lenotchka, go up-stairs with Mr. Lemm.” The old man was about to follow the little girl, but Panshin stopped him. “Don’t go after the lesson, Christopher Fedoritch,” he said. “Lisa Mihalovna and I are going to play a duet of Beethoven’s sonata.” The old man muttered some reply, and Panshin continued in German, mispronouncing the words-- “Lisaveta Mihalovna showed me the religious cantata you dedicated to her--a beautiful thing! Pray, do not suppose that I cannot appreciate serious music--quite the contrary: it is tedious sometimes, but then it is very elevating.” The old man crimsoned to his ears, and with a sidelong look at Lisa, he hurriedly went out of the room. Marya Dmitrievna asked Panshin to sing his song again; but he protested that he did not wish to torture the ears of the musical German, and suggested to Lisa that they should attack Beethoven’s sonata. Then Marya Dmitrievna heaved a sigh, and in her turn suggested to Gedeonovsky a walk in the garden. “I should like,” she said, “to have a little more talk, and to consult you about our poor Fedya.” Gedeonovsky bowed with a smirk, and with two fingers picked up his hat, on the brim of which his gloves had been tidily laid, and went away with Marya Dmitrievna. Panshin and Lisa remained alone in the room; she fetched the sonata, and opened it; both seated themselves at the piano in silence. Overhead were heard the faint sounds of scales, played by the uncertain fingers of Lenotchka. Chapter V