"Yes, she has a frightful headache,"--said Marya Dmitrievna, turning to Varvara Pavlovna, and rolling up her eyes.--"I myself have such sick-headaches...." Liza entered her aunt's room and dropped on a chair, exhausted. Marfa Timofeevna gazed at her for a long time, in silence, knelt down softly in front of her--and began, in the same speechless manner, to kiss her hands, in turn. Liza leaned forward, blushed, and fell to weeping, but did not raise Marfa Timofeevna, did not withdraw her hands: she felt that she had not the right to withdraw them, had not the right to prevent the old woman showing her contrition, her sympathy, asking her pardon for what had taken place on the day before; and Marfa Timofeevna could not have done with kissing those poor, pale, helpless hands--and silent tears streamed from her eyes and from Liza's eyes; and the cat Matros purred in the wide arm-chair beside the ball of yarn and the stocking, the elongated flame of the shrine-lamp quivered gently and flickered in front of the holy picture,--in the adjoining room, behind the door, stood Nastasya Karpovna, and also stealthily wiped her eyes, with a checked handkerchief rolled up into a ball. XL And, in the meantime, down-stairs in the drawing-room preference was in progress; Marya Dmitrievna won, and was in high spirits. A footman entered, and announced the arrival of Panshin. Marya Dmitrievna dropped her cards, and fidgeted about in her chair; Varvara Pavlovna looked at her with a half-smile, then directed her gaze to the door. Panshin made his appearance, in a black frock-coat, with a tall English collar, buttoned up to the throat. "It was painful for me to obey, but you see I have come." That was what his freshly-shaved, unsmiling face expressed. "Goodness, _Woldemar_,"--exclaimed Marya Dmitrievna:--"you always used to enter without being announced!"