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Updated: June 8, 2025
I possessed your late husband's sincere friendship all his life; and you and I used to play with our dolls at school together as girls." Praskovya Ivanovna waved her hands. "I knew that was coming! You always begin about the school when you want to reproach me that's your way. But to my thinking that's only fine talk. I can't stand the school you're always talking about."
Varvara Petrovna gave a wry smile. "I'll tell you what it is, Praskovya Ivanovna, my friend, you must have taken some fancy into your head again, and that's why you've come. You've simply lived on fancies all your life.
Pashenka had already long ceased to be Pashenka and had become old, withered, wrinkled Praskovya Mikhaylovna, mother-in-law of that failure, the drunken official Mavrikyev. She was living in the country town where he had had his last appointment, and there she was supporting the family: her daughter, her ailing neurasthenic son-in-law, and her five grandchildren.
She had a large house in the town which had stood empty for many years with the windows nailed up. They were wealthy people. Praskovya Ivanovna had been, in her first marriage, a Madame Tushin, and like her school-friend, Varvara Petrovna, was the daughter of a government contractor of the old school, and she too had been an heiress at her marriage.
There must have been some reason which led Varvara Petrovna to resolve to listen to such a man in spite of her repugnance, Praskovya Ivanovna was simply shaking with terror, though, I believe she really did not quite understand what it was about." Stepan Trofimovitch was trembling too, but that was, on the contrary, because he was disposed to understand everything, and exaggerate it.
You understand, it all depends on Liza. But I left her on the best of terms with Nicolas, and he promised he would come to us in November. So it's only the Von Lembkev who is intriguing, and Praskovya is a blind woman. She suddenly tells me that all my suspicions are fancy. I told her to her face she was a fool. I am ready to repeat it at the day of judgment.
At last, in the April of this year, she received a letter from Paris from Praskovya Ivanovna Drozdov, the widow of the general and the friend of Varvara Petrovna's childhood. He was received like a son of the family, so that he almost lived at the count's.
"C'est un homme malhonnete et je crois meme que c'est un format evade ou quelque chose dans ce genre," Stepan Trofimovitch muttered again, and again he flushed red and broke off. "Liza, it's time we were going," announced Praskovya Ivanovna disdainfully, getting up from her seat. She seemed sorry that in her alarm she had called herself a fool.
Masha fell in love with Vanya, my son-in-law. And well, he is well-meaning but unfortunate. He is ill. 'Mamma! her daughter's voice interrupted her 'Take Mitya! I can't be in two places at once. Praskovya Mikhaylovna shuddered, but rose and went out of the room, stepping quickly in her patched shoes.
Praskovya could never get used to her daughter's being married to a rich man, and when she came she huddled timidly in the outer room with a deprecating smile on her face, and tea and sugar were sent out to her.
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