“And he, poor darling,” Marya Dmitrievna went on, “how respectful he is, how attentive even in his sorrow! He has promised not to desert me. Ah, I can never bear that! Ah, my head aches fit to split! Send me Palashka. You will be the death of me, if you don’t think better of it,--do you hear?” And, calling her twice an ungrateful girl, Marya Dmitrievna dismissed her. She went to her own room. But she had not had time to recover from her interviews with Panshin and her mother before another storm broke over head, and this time from a quarter from which she would least have expected it. Marfa Timofyevna came into her room, and at once slammed the door after her. The old lady’s face was pale, her cap was awry, her eyes were flashing, and her hands and lips were trembling. Lisa was astonished; she had never before seen her sensible and reasonable aunt in such a condition. “A pretty thing, miss,” Marfa Timofyevna began in a shaking and broken whisper, “a pretty thing! Who taught you such ways, I should like to know, miss?... Give me some water; I can’t speak.” “Calm yourself, auntie, what is the matter?” said Lisa, giving her a glass of water. “Why, I thought you did not think much of Mr. Panshin yourself.” Marfa Timofyevna pushed away the glass. “I can’t drink; I shall knock my last teeth out if I try to. What’s Panshin to do with it? Why bring Panshin in? You had better tell me who has taught you to make appointments at night--eh? miss?” Lisa turned pale. “Now, please, don’t try to deny it,” pursued Marfa Timofyevna; “Shurotchka herself saw it all and told me. I have had to forbid her chattering, but she is not a liar.” “I don’t deny it, auntie,” Lisa uttered scarcely audibly. “Ah, ah! That’s it, is it, miss; you made an appointment with him, that old sinner, who seems so meek?” “No.” “How then?” “I went down into the drawing-room for a book; he was in the garden--and he called me.” “And you went? A pretty thing! So you love him, eh?” “I love him,” answered Lisa softly. “Merciful Heavens! She loves him!” Marfa Timofyevna snatched off her cap. “She loves a married man! Ah! she loves him.” “He told me”...began Lisa. “What has he told you, the scoundrel, eh?” “He told me that his wife was dead.”