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Updated: June 18, 2025
"To hear is to obey," answered Panshine, with a sweet and serene smile, which came and went quickly; and then, having pushed a chair up to the piano, he sat down, struck a few chords, and began to sing the following romance, pronouncing the words very distinctly Amid pale clouds, above the earth, The moon rides high, And o'er the sea a magic light Pours from the sky.
After Lavretsky's departure, Panshine grew animated. He began to give advice to Gedeonovsky, and to make mock love to Madame Belenitsine, and at last he sang his romance. But when gazing at Liza, or talking to her, he maintained the same air as before, one of deep meaning, with a touch of sadness in it. All that night also, Lavretsky did not sleep.
Panshine counted ninety, and began to take up the tricks calmly and politely, his countenance the while wearing a grave and dignified expression. It was thus, he thought, that diplomatists ought to play. It was thus, in all probability, that he used to play with some influential dignitary at St. Petersburg, whom he wished to impress with a favorable idea of his solidity and perspicacity.
"Don't make up your mind directly, but wait a little, and think over what I have said to you. And even if you don't believe my words, but are determined to marry in accordance with the dictates of mere prudence even, in that case, Mr. Panshine is not the man you ought to marry. He must not be your husband. You will promise me not to be hasty, won't you?"
Do you know 'Son geloso, or 'La ci darem, or 'Mira la bianca luna?" "I used to sing 'Mira la bianca luna," answered Panshine; but it was a long time ago. I have forgotten it now." "Never mind, we will hum it over first by way of experiment. Let me come there." Varvara Pavlovna sat down to the piano. Panshine stood by her side.
Finally he did not attempt to make any defence against what he considered a deserved reproach, that of giving way to a wasteful and inconsiderate expenditure of both time and strength. "All that is very fine!" at last exclaimed Panshine with vexation. "But here are you, just returned to Russia; what do you intend to do?"
Only in his eyes, which were blue, rather prominent, and a little wanting in mobility, an expression might be remarked which it would be difficult to define. It might have been melancholy, or it might have been fatigue; and the ring of his voice seemed somewhat monotonous. All this time Panshine was supporting the burden of the conversation.
You seem to have only been boasting before Panshine, when you told him that you had come into Russia to till the soil. It was to run after the girls in your old age that you came. Tidings of freedom, reached you, and you flung aside every thing, forgot every thing, ran like a child after a butterfly." In the midst of his reflections the image of Liza constantly haunted him.
Varvara Pavlovna took up a sheet of music, and half-screening her face with it, bent over towards Panshine, and said in a whisper, while she nibbled a biscuit, a quiet smile playing about her lips and her eyes, "Elle n'a pas inventé la poudre, la bonne dame." Varvara Pavlovna gave him a friendly look, and rose from her seat. At that moment Liza entered the room.
During the whole time Lavretsky was talking with the mistress of the house, with Panshine and with Marfa Timofeevna, that old gentleman had been sitting in his corner, squeezing up his eyes and shooting out his lips, while he listened with the curiosity of a child to all that was being said. When he left, it was that he might hasten to spread through the town the news of the recent arrival.
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