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Updated: June 12, 2025
Lisa had not uttered a word in the course of the dispute between Lavretsky and Panshin, but she had followed it attentively and was completely on Lavretsky's side.
The day of the arrival of Lavretsky's wife at the town of O , a sorrowful day for him, and been also a day of misery for Lisa. She had not had time to go down-stairs and say good-morning to her mother, when the tramp of hoofs was heard under the window, and with a secret dismay she saw Panshin riding into the courtyard.
"Sit down," she repeated insistently, tapping on a chair behind him. He sat down, coughed, tugged at his collar, and sang his song. "Charmant," pronounced Varvara Pavlovna, "you sing very well, vous avez du style, again." She walked round the piano and stood just opposite Panshin. He sang it again, increasing the melodramatic tremor in his voice.
The old man crimsoned to his ears, and with a sidelong look at Lisa, he hurriedly went out of the room. Marya Dmitrievna asked Panshin to sing his song again; but he protested that he did not wish to torture the ears of the musical German, and suggested to Lisa that they should attack Beethoven's sonata.
And Marfa Timofyevna embraced her nephew. "And Lisa's not going to marry Panshin; don't you trouble yourself; that's not the sort of husband she deserves." "Oh, I'm not troubling myself," answered Lavretsky, and went away. Four days later, he set off for home. His coach rolled quickly along the soft cross-road.
But she had not had time to recover from her interviews with Panshin and her mother before another storm broke over head, and this time from a quarter from which she would least have expected it. Marfa Timofyevna came into her room, and at once slammed the door after her. The old lady's face was pale, her cap was awry, her eyes were flashing, and her hands and lips were trembling.
Lisa looked over his shoulders at his work. "In drawing, just as in life generally," observed Panshin, holding his head to right and to left, "lightness and boldness are the great things." At that instant Lemm came into the room, and with a stiff bow was about to leave it; but Panshin, throwing aside album and pencils, placed himself in his way. "Where are you doing, dear Christopher Fedoritch?
Panshin was there, he talked a great deal about his expedition, and very amusingly mimicked and described the country gentry he had seen; Lavretsky laughed, but Lemm would not come out of his corner, and sat silent, slightly tremulous all over like a spider, looking dull and sullen, and he only revived when Lavretsky began to take leave.
"Neither poet nor musician!" he muttered at last... And his tired head sank wearily on to the pillows. The next morning the master of the house and his guest drank tea in the garden under an old time-tree. "Master!" said Lavretsky among other things, "you will soon have to compose a triumphal cantata." "On what occasion?" "For the nuptials of Mr. Panshin and Lisa.
Panshin bowed to him without speaking, but the lady of the house cried, "Well, this is unexpected!" and slightly frowned. Lavretsky sat down near her, and began to look at her cards. "Do you know how to play picquet?" she asked him with a kind of hidden vexation, and then declared that she had thrown away a wrong card.
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