came here in the same car.'
'I'd been waiting at Matveevo since dawn,' Pyotr Stepanovich picked up. 'Our rear cars got derailed in the night; we almost broke our legs.'
'Broke their legs!' Liza cried out. 'Maman, maman, you and I were going to go to Matveevo last week, so we could have broken our legs, too!'
'Lord have mercy!' Praskovya Ivanovna crossed herself.
'Maman, maman, dear ma, don't be afraid if I really break both my legs; it's quite likely to happen to me, you yourself say I gallop around at breakneck speed every day. Mavriky Nikolaevich, will you lead me about when I'm lame?' she laughed aloud again. 'If it happens, I won't have anyone else but you lead me about, you may safely count on that. Well, say I'll just break one leg... Well, be so kind, tell me you'll consider it a blessing.'
'Where's the blessing in having one leg?' Mavriky Nikolaevich frowned gravely.
'But you will lead me about, you alone, I won't let anyone else!'
'You'll lead me about even then, Lizaveta Nikolaevna,' Mavriky Nikolaevich murmured even more gravely.
'God, he wanted to make a pun!' Liza exclaimed, almost horrified. 'Mavriky Nikolaevich, don't you ever dare to set out on that path! What a great egoist you are after that! No, I'm convinced, to your credit, that you're slandering yourself now; on the contrary, you'll be assuring me from morning till night that I've become even more interesting minus a leg! But one thing is irremediable—you are immensely tall, and I'll become so very tiny minus a leg, how will you be able to take my arm, what sort of couple will we make!'
And she laughed morbidly. Her hints and witticisms were flat, but she apparently no longer cared about quality.
'Hysterics!' Pyotr Stepanovich whispered to me. 'A glass of water, quickly!'
He had guessed right; a minute later everyone was bustling about, water was brought. Liza embraced her maman, kissed her fervently, wept on her shoulder, and then, drawing back and peering into her face, at once began laughing loudly again. Finally, the maman also began to whimper. Varvara Petrovna hustled them off to her rooms, through the same door by which Darya Pavlovna had come out to us earlier. But they did not stay away long, about four minutes, no more...
I am now trying to recall every detail of these last moments of that memorable morning. I remember that when we were left alone, without the ladies (except for Darya Pavlovna, who did not move from her place), Nikolai Vsevolodovich went around and greeted each of us, except for Shatov, who continued to sit in his corner, bending towards the ground even more than before. Stepan Trofimovich had just begun talking about something extremely witty with Nikolai Vsevolodovich, but he hastily went towards Darya Pavlovna. On the way he was intercepted almost forcibly by Pyotr Stepanovich, who dragged him to the window and began whispering to him about something evidently very important, judging by the expression on his face and the gestures that accompanied the whisper. But Nikolai Vsevolodovich listened very languidly, even distractedly, with his official smile, even impatiently towards the end, and kept making as if to leave. He stepped away from the window precisely as our ladies came back; Varvara Petrovna sat Liza down in her former place, insisting that it was absolutely necessary to wait and rest for at least ten minutes, and that it was unlikely that fresh air would be good just then for her upset nerves. She really was being awfully attentive to Liza, and herself sat down beside her. The now free Pyotr Stepanovich sprang over to them at once and began a rapid, merry conversation. It was then that Nikolai Vsevolodovich finally went up to Darya Pavlovna with his unhurried gait; Dasha became all aflutter on her seat as he approached, and quickly jumped up in visible confusion, her whole face flushed red.
'I gather you are to be congratulated ... or not yet?' he said, with a sort of peculiar wrinkle on his face.
Dasha made some reply, but it was hard to hear.
'Forgive my indiscretion,' he raised his voice, 'but, you know, I was specially notified. Do you know that?'
'Yes, I know you were specially notified.'
'Anyway, I hope I haven't interfered in anything with my congratulations,' he laughed, 'and if Stepan Trofimovich...'
'Congratulations for what, for what?' Pyotr Stepanovich suddenly sprang over. 'What are you to be congratulated for, Darya Pavlovna? Bah! You mean for that? The blush on your face tells me I've guessed right. Indeed, what else can our beautiful and well-behaved young ladies be congratulated for, and what sort of congratulations makes them blush the most? Well, miss, accept mine as well, if I've guessed right, and pay what you owe me—remember, in Switzerland you bet me that you would never get married ... Ah, yes, about Switzerland— what's the matter with me? Imagine, that's half the reason I'm here, and I almost forgot: tell me,' he turned quickly to Stepan Trofimovich, 'when are you going to Switzerland?'
'I... to Switzerland?' Stepan Trofimovich was surprised and embarrassed.
'What? You're not going? But aren't you also getting married ... as you wrote?'
'Pierre!' exclaimed Stepan Trofimovich.
'Pierre, nothing... You see, if it pleases you, I came flying here to announce to you that I am not at all against it, since you insisted on having my opinion, and as soon as possible; and if' (he went on spilling) 'you need to be 'saved,' as you say and implore right there in the same letter, then again I'm at your service. Is it true that he's getting married, Varvara Petrovna?' he quickly turned to her. 'I hope I'm not being indiscreet; he himself writes that the whole town knows and everyone's congratulating him, so that, to avoid it, he goes out only at night. The letter is in my pocket. But, would you believe, Varvara Petrovna, I understand nothing in it! Tell me just one thing, Stepan Trofimovich, are you to be congratulated or 'saved'? You won't believe me, but next to the happiest lines there are the most desperate ones. First of all, he asks my forgiveness; well, let's say that's just his way... Still, I can't help observing: imagine, the man has seen me twice in his life, and that by accident, and now suddenly, marrying for the third time, he imagines that in doing so he's violating some sort of parental duties towards me, and entreats me, from a thousand miles away, not to be angry and to grant him permission! Please don't go getting offended, Stepan Trofimovich, it's a feature of your time, I take a broad view and do not condemn, and let's say it does you honor, etc., etc., but again, the main thing is that I don't understand the main thing. There's something here about some 'sins in Switzerland.' I'm getting married, he says, on account of some sins, or because of someone else's sins, or however he puts it—'sins,' in short. 'The girl,' he says, 'is a pearl and a diamond,' well, and naturally 'he is unworthy'—that's his style; but because of some sins or circumstances, 'I am forced to go to the altar, and then to Switzerland,' and therefore 'drop everything and fly here to save me.' Can you understand anything after all that? However... however, I notice from the look on your faces' (he kept turning around, holding the letter in his hand, peering into their faces with an innocent smile) 'that I seem to have committed a blunder, in my usual fashion... because of my foolish frankness, or hastiness, as Nikolai Vsevolodovich says. I thought we were among our own
