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A poor lady, a widow of good family, taught her to play the piano. Yet her chief tutor was Stepan Trofimovitch. In reality he first discovered Dasha. He began teaching the quiet child even before Varvara Petrovna had begun to think about her. I repeat again, it was wonderful how children took to him.
When Stepan Trofimovitch had finished, and as he was going informed his pupil that the next time he would deal with "The Story of the Expedition of Igor," Varvara Petrovna suddenly got up and announced that there would be no more lessons. Stepan Trofimovitch winced, but said nothing, and Dasha flushed crimson. It put a stop to the scheme, however.
Excuse me, I cannot come out to open this minute; I'm giving Dasha her lesson." "Is Ekaterina Pavlovna in the garden?" "No, she went away with my sister this morning to our aunt in the province of Penza. And in the winter they will probably go abroad," she added after a pause. "'God sent ... the crow ... a piece ... of cheese.... Have you written it?"
But Stepan Trofimovitch faltered in a weak voice that he really would like to go to sleep une heure, and then un bouillon, un the.... enfin il est si heureux. Varvara Petrovna waited a little, and stole out on tiptoe from behind the partition. She settled herself in the landlady's room, turned out the landlady and her husband, and told Dasha to bring her that woman.
Besides, he's still a handsome man... In short, Stepan Trofimovitch, for whom you have always had such a respect. Well?" Dasha looked at her still more inquiringly, and this time not simply with surprise; she blushed perceptibly. "Stay, hold your tongue, don't be in a hurry! Though you will have money under my will, yet when I die, what will become of you, even if you have money?
Aunt wouldn't let me go in to see Dasha to-day. She says she's got a headache." "But... but how did you find out?" "My goodness, like every one else. That needs no cunning!" "But does every one else...?" "Why, of course. Mother, it's true, heard it first through Alyona Frolovna, my nurse; your Nastasya ran round to tell her. You told Nastasya, didn't you? She says you told her yourself."
At that point Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch at last went up to Darya Pavlovna with his leisurely step. Dasha began stirring uneasily at his approach, and jumped up quickly in evident embarrassment, flushing all over her face. "I believe one may congratulate you... or is it too soon?" he brought out with a peculiar line in his face. Dasha made him some answer, but it was difficult to catch it.
Rallying his strength, he began talking of Moscow, of old friends, of Pushkin, of the drama, of Russian literature; he recalled our little suppers, the heated debates of our circle; with regret he uttered the names of two or three friends who were dead.... 'Do you remember Dasha? he went on. 'Ah, there was a heart of pure gold! What a heart! and how she loved me!... What has become of her now?
The letter was brief, and the object of it was perfectly clear, though it contained only a plain statement of the above-mentioned facts without drawing any inferences from them. She returned in July, alone, leaving Dasha with the Drozdovs. She brought us the news that the Drozdovs themselves had promised to arrive among us by the end of August.
Praskovya Ivanovna had with justice called Darya Pavlovna her favourite. Till that time Dasha had, to all appearances, completely justified her expectations.
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