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Updated: June 23, 2025
Then it was true what I imagined yesterday at Stepan Trofimovitch's, that you -are rather devoted to me?" she said with a smile, hurriedly pressing my hand to say good-bye, and hurrying back to the forsaken Mavriky Nikolaevitch. I went out weighed down by my promise, and unable to understand what had happened.
"Are you in Stepan Trofimovitch's service? Yes, and he's a professor, too, isn't he?" "Ah, maman, you must dream at night of professors," cried Liza with annoyance. "I see too many when I'm awake. But you always will contradict your mother. Were you here four years ago when Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was in the neighbourhood?" I answered that I was. "And there was some Englishman with you?"
Or do you suppose he'll take you for the sake of that eight thousand, and that I'm hurrying off to sell you? You're a fool, a fool! You're all ungrateful fools. Give me my umbrella!" And she flew off to walk by the wet brick pavements and the wooden planks to Stepan Trofimovitch's.
Even in old days Praskovya Ivanovna had been always unable to recall Stepan Trofimovitch's name, and had always called him the "Professor." "Well, his son, then; so much the better. Of course, it's all the same to me. An ordinary young man, very lively and free in his manners, but nothing special in him.
She nodded in Stepan Trofimovitch's direction without breaking off from what she was doing, and when the latter muttered some sort of greeting, she hurriedly gave him her hand, and without looking at him motioned him to a seat beside her. "I sat waiting for five minutes, 'mastering my heart," he told me afterwards. "I saw before me not the woman whom I had known for twenty years.
He was rather tall, but extremely thin and narrow-shouldered, and had extraordinarily lank hair of a reddish hue. All Stepan Trofimovitch's condescending gibes at some of his opinions he accepted mildly, answered him sometimes very seriously, and often nonplussed him. Stepan Trofimovitch treated him very kindly, and indeed he behaved like a father to all of us.
He used to turn up invariably at Stepan Trofimovitch's evenings, and borrowed newspapers and books from him. There was another young man who always came, one Virginsky, a clerk in the service here, who had something in common with Shatov, though on the surface he seemed his complete opposite in every respect. He was a "family man" too.
Liza flushed with pleasure, and saying "merci" to me, on Shatov's account of course, went to meet him, looking at him with interest. Shatov stopped awkwardly in the doorway. Thanking him for coming she led him up to her mother. "This is Mr. Shatov, of whom I have told you, and this is Mr. G v, a great friend of mine and of Stepan Trofimovitch's.
"Oh, gather what you like!" he answered in a weary and disgusted voice, and he sat down to his writing-table. I went away. An improbable idea was growing stronger and stronger in my mind. I thought of the next day with distress.... This "next day," the very Sunday which was to decide Stepan Trofimovitch's fate irrevocably, was one of the most memorable days in my chronicle.
"When her legs swell, she's always like this, you understand she's ill," she whispered to Shatov, still with the same marked curiosity, scrutinising him, especially his shock of hair. "Are you an officer?" the old lady inquired of me. Liza had mercilessly abandoned me to her. "N-no. I'm in the service...." "Mr. G v is a great friend of Stepan Trofimovitch's," Liza chimed in immediately.
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