"It's not worth talking about..." he muttered, and relapsed into determined silence. He positively flushed with determination. "Of course one can expect nothing else from you," said Varvara Petrovna indignantly. It was clear to her now that they all knew something and, at the same time, that they were all scared, that they were evading her questions, and anxious to keep something from her. The footman came in and brought her, on a little silver tray, the cup of coffee she had so specially ordered, but at a sign from her moved with it at once towards Marya Timofyevna. "You were very cold just now, my dear; make haste and drink it and get warm." _"Merci."_ Marya Timofyevna took the cup and at once went off into a giggle at having said _merci_ to the footman. But meeting Varvara Petrovna's reproving eyes, she was overcome with shyness and put the cup on the table. "Auntie, surely you're not angry?" she faltered with a sort of flippant playfulness. "Wh-a-a-t?" Varvara Petrovna started, and drew herself up in her chair. "I'm not your aunt. What are you thinking of?" Marya Timofyevna, not expecting such an angry outburst, began trembling all over in little convulsive shudders, as though she were in a fit, and sank back in her chair. "I... I... thought that was the proper way," she faltered, gazing open-eyed at Varvara Petrovna. "Liza called you that." "What Liza?" "Why, this young lady here," said Marya Timofyevna, pointing with her finger. "So she's Liza already?" "You called her that yourself just now," said Marya Timofyevna growing a little bolder. "And I dreamed of a beauty like that," she added, laughing, as it were accidentally. Varvara Petrovna reflected, and grew calmer, she even smiled faintly at Marya Timofyevna's last words; the latter, catching her smile, got up from her chair, and limping, went timidly towards her. "Take it. I forgot to give it back. Don't be angry with my rudeness." She took from her shoulders the black shawl that Varvara Petrovna had wrapped round her. "Put it on again at once, and you can keep it always. Go and sit down, drink your coffee, and please don't be afraid of me, my dear, don't worry yourself. I am beginning to understand you." _"Chère amie..."_ Stepan Trofimovitch ventured again. "Ach, Stepan Trofimovitch, it's bewildering enough without you. You might at least spare me.... Please ring that bell there, near you, to the maid's room." A silence followed. Her eyes strayed irritably and suspiciously over all our faces. Agasha, her favourite maid, came in. "Bring me my check shawl, the one I bought in Geneva. What's Darya Pavlovna doing?" "She's not very well, madam." "Go and ask her to come here. Say that I want her particularly, even if she's not well." At that instant there was again, as before, an unusual noise of steps and voices in the next room, and suddenly Praskovya Ivanovna, panting and "distracted," appeared in the doorway. She was leaning on the arm of Mavriky Nikolaevitch.