“You keep saying it’s nothing. What have you going on down-stairs—music?”
“No—they are playing cards.”
“Well, she’s ready for anything. Shurotchka, I see you want a run in the garden—run along.”
“Oh, no, Marfa Timofyevna.”
“Don’t argue, if you please, run along. Nastasya Karpovna has gone out into the garden all by herself; you keep her company. You must treat the old with respect.”—Shurotchka departed—“But where is my cap? Where has it got to?”
“Let me look for it,” said Lisa.
“Sit down, sit down; I have still the use of my legs. It must be inside in my bedroom.”
And flinging a sidelong glance in Lavretsky’s direction, Marfa Timofyevna went out. She left the door open; but suddenly she came back to it and shut it.
Lisa leant back against her chair and quietly covered her face with her hands; Lavretsky remained where he was.
“This is how we were to meet again!” he brought out at last.