“What do I see? Come now, say something!”
“She lives in the same house as I do … with her brother … an officer.”
“Well?”
Shatov stammered again.
“It’s not worth talking about …” he muttered, and relapsed into determined silence. He positively flushed with determination.
“Of course one can expect nothing else from you,” said Varvara Petrovna indignantly. It was clear to her now that they all knew something and, at the same time, that they were all scared, that they were evading her questions, and anxious to keep something from her.
The footman came in and brought her, on a little silver tray, the cup of coffee she had so specially ordered, but at a sign from her moved with it at once towards Marya Timofyevna.
“You were very cold just now, my dear; make haste and drink it and get warm.”
“Merci.”
Marya Timofyevna took the cup and at once went off into a giggle at having said merci to the footman. But meeting Varvara Petrovna’s reproving eyes, she was overcome with shyness and put the cup on the table.