"Monsieur Pánshin.... Sergyéi Petróvitch Gedeónovsky.... But pray sit down! I look at you, and I simply cannot believe my eyes. How is your health?"
"As you see, I am blooming. And you, cousin,—I don't want to cast the evil eye on you—you have not grown thin during these eight years."
"Just think, what a long time it is since we saw each other,"—remarked Márya Dmítrievna, dreamily.—"Whence come you now? Where have you left ... that is, I meant to say"—she hastily caught herself up—"I meant to say, are you to be with us long?"
"I have just come from Berlin,"—returned Lavrétzky,—"and to-morrow I set out for my estate—probably to remain there a long time."
"Of course, you will live at Lavríki?"
"No, not at Lavríki, but I have a tiny village about twenty-five versts from here; I am going there."
"The village which you inherited from Glafíra Petróvna?"
"The same."
"Good gracious, Feódor Ivánitch! You have a splendid house at Lavríki!"
Lavrétzky scowled slightly.