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Updated: June 12, 2025
"Precisely as in the best Parisian salon," thought Marya Dmitrievna, as she listened to their fluent and quick-witted sentences. Panshin had a sense of complete satisfaction; his eyes shone, and he smiled. At first he passed his hand across his face, contracted his brows, and sighed spasmodically whenever he chanced to encounter Marya Dmitrievna's eyes.
"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.
Lavretsky started: "You cannot be making up your mind to marry Panshin?" Lisa gave an almost imperceptible smile "Oh, no!" she said. "Now you see for yourself, Fedor Ivanitch, as I told you before, that happiness does not depend on us, but on God." Smoke
"On the nuptials of M. Panshin and Lisa. It seems to me things are in a fair way with them already." "That will never be," cried Lemm. "Why?" "Because it is impossible." "What, then, do you find amiss with the match?" "Everything is amiss, everything. At the age of nineteen Lisavetta is a girl of high principles, serious, of lofty feelings, and he he is a dilettante, in a word."
Varvara Pavlovna took up a music-book and half-hiding behind it and bending towards Panshin, she observed in a whisper, as she nibbled a biscuit, with a serene smile on her lips and in her eyes, "Elle n'a pas invente la poudre, la bonne dame." Varvara flung him a friendly glance and got up.
"You are pleased to say that I cleaned you out," replied Gedeonovsky; "but who was it won twelve roubles of me last week and more?"... "You're a malicious fellow," Panshin interrupted, with genial but somewhat contemptuous carelessness, and, paying him no further attention, he went up to Lisa. "I cannot get the overture of Oberon here," he began.
Varvara Pavlovna possessed the faculty of getting on easily with every one; before two hours had passed it seemed to Panshin that he had known her for an age, and Lisa, the same Lisa whom, at any-rate, he had loved, to whom he had the evening before offered his hand, had vanished as it were into a mist. Tea was brought in; the conversation became still more unconstrained.
On the way he met Panshin, who galloped past him on horseback, his hat pulled down to his very eyebrows. At the Kalitins', Lavretsky was not admitted for the first time since he had been acquainted with them. Marya Dmitrievna was "resting," so the footman informed him; her excellency had a headache. Marfa Timofyevna and Lisaveta Mihalovna were not at home.
But she doesn't in the least love Panshin either... a poor consolation!" Painful days followed for Fedor Ivanitch. He found himself in a continual fever. Every morning he made for the post and tore open letters and papers; nowhere did he find confirmation or disproof of the fateful news.
"How can you say that, Vladimir Nikolaitch? This German is poor, lonely, and broken-down have you no pity for him? Can you wish to teaze him?" Panshin was a little taken aback. "You are right, Lisaveta Mihalovna," he declared. "It's my everlasting thoughtlessness that's to blame. No, don't contradict me; I know myself. So much harm has come to me from my want of thought.
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