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But I don't want to justify myself." "Well, anyway, why not try? Don't despair," rejoined Marya Dmitrievna, and she was on the point of patting her on the cheek, but after a glance at her she had not the courage. "She is humble, very humble," she thought, "but still she is a lioness." "Are you ill?" Panshin was saying to Lisa meanwhile. "Yes, I am not well."
All peoples are essentially alike; only introduce among them good institutions, and the thing is done. But in case of need don't be uneasy. The institutions will transform the life itself." Marya Dmitrievna most feelingly assented to all Panshin said. "What a clever man," she thought, "is talking in my drawing-room!" Lisa sat in silence leaning back against the window; Lavretsky too was silent.
Marya Dmitrievna was put in an arm-chair near the banks, in the shade, with a rug under her feet and the best line was given to her. Anton as an old experienced angler offered her his services. He zealously put on the worms, and clapped his hand on them, spat on them and even threw in the line with a graceful forward swing of his whole body.
"I understand you," he brought out after a rather protracted silence. "Yes, I understand you." "What?" "I understand you," Panshin repeated significantly; he simply did not know what to say. Lisa felt embarrassed, and then "so be it!" she thought. Panshin assumed a mysterious air and kept silent, looking severely away. "I fancy though it's struck eleven," remarked Marya Dmitrievna.
And indeed everybody in the room looked with a smile of pleasure at the jovial old gentleman, who standing beside his tall and stout partner, Marya Dmitrievna, curved his arms, beat time, straightened his shoulders, turned out his toes, tapped gently with his foot, and, by a smile that broadened his round face more and more, prepared the onlookers for what was to follow. "Just look at the master!
That place is the most convenient for me now." Marya Dmitrievna was again thrown into such a state of agitation that she became quite stiff, and her hands hung lifeless by her sides. Panshin came to her support by entering into conversation with Lavretsky. Marya Dmitrievna regained her composure, she leaned back in her arm-chair and now and then put in a word.
It was a letter from Princess Mary. "She has written to you. How she torments herself, poor thing! She's afraid you might think that she does not like you." "But she doesn't like me," said Natasha. "Don't talk nonsense!" cried Marya Dmitrievna.
In the very middle of the waltz she suddenly passed into a pathetic motive, and finished up with an air from "Lucia" Fra poco... She reflected that lively music was not in keeping with her position. The air from "Lucia," with emphasis on the sentimental passages, moved Marya Dmitrievna greatly. "What soul!" she observed in an undertone to Gedeonovsky.
But in nothing in the house was the holiday so noticeable as in Marya Dmitrievna's broad, stern face, which on that day wore an invariable look of solemn festivity. After Mass, when they had finished their coffee in the dining room where the loose covers had been removed from the furniture, a servant announced that the carriage was ready, and Marya Dmitrievna rose with a stern air.
The tears flowed down Maria Dmitrievna's cheeks. She did not wipe them away; she was fond of weeping. Meanwhile Lavretsky sat as if on thorns. "Good God!" he thought, "what torture this is! What a day this has been for me!" "You do not reply," Maria Dmitrievna recommenced: "how am I to understand you? Is it possible that you can be so cruel? No, I cannot believe that.