"_Oui, monsieur_," she replied, with a grimace, and began to set the room in order, bending herself into graceful attitudes, and by each of her gestures making Lavretsky feel that she considered him an uncivilized bear. It was with a sensation of downright hatred that he watched the mocking expression of her faded, but still _piquante_, Parisian face, and looked at her white sleeves, her silk apron, and her little cap. At last he sent her away, and, after long hesitation, as Varvara Pavlovna did not return, he determined to go to the Kalitines', and pay a visit, not to Madame Kalitine (for nothing would have induced him to enter her drawing-room--that drawing-room in which his wife was), but to Marfa Timofeevna. He remembered that a back staircase, used by the maid-servants, led straight to her room. Lavretsky carried out his plan. By a fortunate chance he met Shurochka in the court-yard, and she brought him to Marfa Timofeevna. He found the old lady, contrary to her usual custom, alone. She was without her cap, and was sitting in a corner of the room in a slouching attitude, her arms folded across her breast. When she saw Lavretsky, she was much agitated, and jumping up hastily from her chair, she began going here and there about the room, as if she were looking for her cap. "Ah! so you have come, then," she said, fussing about and avoiding his eyes. "Well, good day to you! Well, what's--what's to be done? Where were you yesterday? Well, she has come. Well--yes. Well, it must be--somehow or other." Lavretsky sank upon a chair. "Well, sit down, sit down," continued the old lady. "Did you come straight up-stairs? Yes, of course. Eh! You came to see after me? Many thanks." The old lady paused. Lavretsky did not know what to say to her; but she understood him. "Liza--yes; Liza was here just now," she continued tying and untying the strings of her work-bag. "She isn't quite well. Shurochka, where are you? Come here, my mother; cannot you sit still a moment? And I have a headache myself. It must be that singing which has given me it, and the music." "What singing, aunt?" "What? don't you know? They have already begun--what do you call them?--duets down there. And all in Italian--chi-chi and cha-cha--regular magpies. With their long drawn-out notes, one would think they were going to draw one's soul out. It's that Panshine, and your wife too. And how quickly it was all arranged! Quite without ceremony, just as if among near relations. However, one must say that even a dog will try to find itself a home somewhere. You needn't die outside if folks don't chase you away from their houses." "I certainly must confess I did not expect this," answered Lavretsky. "This must have required considerable daring." "No, my dear, it isn't daring with her, it is calculation. However, God be with her! They say you are going to send her to Lavriki. Is that true?" "Yes; I am going to make over that property to her." "Has she asked you for money?"