"Thank God, yes,"--replied Marya Dmitrievna,--"why?" "Because it seemed to me that you were not quite yourself." Marya Dmitrievna assumed a dignified and somewhat offended aspect.--"If that's the way you take it,"--she said to herself,--"I don't care in the least; evidently, my good man, nothing affects thee any more than water does a goose; any one else would have pined away with grief, but it swells thee up more than ever." Marya Dmitrievna did not stand on ceremony with herself; she expressed herself more elegantly aloud. As a matter of fact, Lavretzky did not resemble a victim of fate. His rosy-cheeked, purely-Russian face, with its large, white brow, rather thick nose, and broad, regular lips, fairly overflowed with native health, with strong, durable force. He was magnificently built,--and his blond hair curled all over his head, like a young man's. Only in his eyes, which were blue and prominent and fixed, was there to be discerned something which was not revery, nor yet weariness, and his voice sounded rather too even. In the meantime, Panshin had continued to keep up the conversation. He turned it on the profits of sugar-refining, concerning which two French pamphlets had recently made their appearance, and with calm modesty undertook to set forth their contents, but without saying one word about them. "Why, here's Fedya!" suddenly rang out Marfa Timofeevna's voice in the adjoining room, behind the half-closed door:--"Actually, Fedya!" And the old woman briskly entered the room. Before Lavretzky could rise from his chair, she clasped him in her embrace.--"Come, show thyself, show thyself,"--she said, moving back from his face.--"Eh! What a splendid fellow thou art! Thou hast grown older, but hast not grown in the least less comely, really! But why art thou kissing my hands,--kiss me myself, if my wrinkled cheeks are not repulsive to thee. Can it be, that thou didst not ask after me: 'Well, tell me, is aunty alive?' Why, thou wert born into my arms, thou rogue! Well, never mind that; why shouldst thou have remembered me? Only, thou art a sensible fellow, to have come. Well, my mother,"--she added, addressing Marya Dmitrievna,--"hast thou given him any refreshments?" "I want nothing,"--said Lavretzky, hastily. "Come, drink some tea, at least, my dear little father. O Lord my God! He has come, no one knows whence, and they don't give him a cup of tea! Go, Liza, and see about it, as quickly as possible. I remember that, as a little fellow, he was a dreadful glutton, and he must be fond of eating even now." "My respects, Marfa Timofeevna,"--said Panshin, approaching the angry old woman from one side, and bowing low. "Excuse me, sir,"--retorted Marfa Timofeevna,--"I did not notice you for joy.--Thou hast grown to resemble thy mother, the darling,"--she went on, turning again to Lavretzky:--"only, thy nose was and remains like thy father's. Well--and art thou to be long with us?" "I am going away to-morrow, aunty." "Whither?"