"Oh, indeed! very good. Lenochka, go up-stairs with Monsieur Lemm." The old man was about to follow the little girl, when Panshine stopped him. "Don't go away when the lesson is over, Christopher Fedorovich," he said. "Lizaveta Mikhailovna and I are going to play a duet--one of Beethoven's sonatas." The old man muttered something to himself, but Panshine continued in German, pronouncing the words very badly-- "Lizaveta Mikhailovna has shown me the sacred cantata which you have dedicated to her--a very beautiful piece! I beg you will not suppose I am unable to appreciate serious music. Quite the reverse. It is sometimes tedious; but, on the other hand, it is extremely edifying." The old man blushed to the ears, cast a side glance at Liza, and went hastily out of the room. Maria Dmitrievna asked Panshine to repeat his romance; but he declared that he did not like to offend the ears of the scientific German, and proposed to Liza to begin Beethoven's sonata. On this, Maria Dmitrievna sighed, and, on her part, proposed a stroll in the garden to Gedeonovsky. "I want to have a little more chat with you," she said, "about our poor Fedia, and to ask for your advice." Gedeonovsky smiled and bowed, took up with two fingers his hat, on the brim of which his gloves were neatly laid out, and retired with Maria Dmitrievna. Panshine and Eliza remained in the room. She fetched the sonata, and spread it out. Both sat down to the piano in silence. From up-stairs there came the feeble sound of scales, played by Lenochka's uncertain fingers. * * * * * _Note to p_. 36. It is possible that M. Panshine may have been inspired by Heine's verses:-- Wie des Mondes Abbild zittert In den wilden Meereswogen, Und er selber still und sicher Wandelt an dem Himmelshogen. Also wandelst du, Geliebte, Still und sicher, und es zittert Nur dein Abbild mir im Herzen, Weil mein eignes Herz erschüttert. V.