the intervals of this eloquent harangue; the first stars lighted up in the rosy sky, above the motionless crests of the lindens. Lavretzky rose, and began to reply to Panshin; an argument ensued. Lavretzky defended the youth and independence of Russia; he surrendered himself, his generation as sacrifice,--but upheld the new men, their convictions, and their desires; Panshin retorted in a sharp and irritating way, declared that clever men must reform everything, and went so far, at last, that, forgetting his rank of Junior Gentleman of the Imperial Bedchamber, and his official career, he called Lavretzky a "laggard conservative," he even hinted,--in a very remote way, it is true,--at his false position in society. Lavretzky did not get angry, did not raise his voice (he remembered that Mikhalevitch also had called him a laggard--only, a Voltairian)--and calmly vanquished Panshin on every point. He demonstrated to him the impossibility of leaps and supercilious reforms, unjustified either by a knowledge of the native land or actual faith in an ideal, even a negative ideal; he cited, as an example, his own education, and demanded, first of all, a recognition of national truth and submission to it,--that submission without which even boldness against falsehood is impossible; he did not evade, in conclusion, the reproach--merited, in his opinion--of frivolous waste of time and strength. "All that is very fine!"--exclaimed the enraged Panshin, at last:--"Here, you have returned to Russia,--what do you intend to do?" "Till the soil,"--replied Lavretzky:--"and try to till it as well as possible." "That is very praiseworthy, there's no disputing that,"--rejoined Panshin:--"and I have been told, that you have already had great success in that direction; but you must admit, that not every one is fitted for that sort of occupation...." "_Une nature poetique_,"--began Marya Dmitrievna,--"of course, cannot till the soil ... _et puis_, you are called, Vladimir Nikolaitch, to do everything _en grand_." This was too much even for Panshin: he stopped short, and the conversation stopped short also. He tried to turn it on the beauty of the starry sky, on Schubert's music--but, for some reason, it would not run smoothly; he ended, by suggesting to Marya Dmitrievna, that he should play picquet with her.--"What! on such an evening?"--she replied feebly; but she ordered the cards to be brought.