"Listen, Madame," at last he began, breathing with difficulty, and at times setting his teeth hard. "There is no reason why we should be hypocritical towards each other. I do not believe in your repentance; but even if it were genuine, it would be impossible for me to rejoin you and live with you again."
Varvara Pavlovna bit her lips and half closed her eyes. "That's dislike," she thought. "It's all over. I'm not even a woman for him."
"Impossible," repeated Lavretsky, and buttoned his coat. "I don't know why you have been pleased to honor me by coming here. Most probably you are out of funds."
"Don't say that—you wound my feelings," whispered Varvara Pavlovna.
"However that may be, you are still, to my sorrow, my wife. I cannot drive you away, so this is what I propose. You can go to Lavriki—to-day if you like—and live there! There is an excellent house there, as you know. You shall have every thing you can want, besides your allowance. Do you consent?"
Varvara Pavlovna raised her embroidered handkerchief to her face.
"I have already told you," she said, with a nervous twitching of her lips, "that I will agree to any arrangement you may please to make for me. At present I have only to ask you—will you at least allow me to thank you for your generosity?"
"No thanks, I beg of you—we shall do much better without them," hastily exclaimed Lavretsky. "Then, he added, approaching the door, I may depend upon—"
"To-morrow I will be at Lavriki," replied Varvara Pavlovna, rising respectfully from her seat. "But Fedor Ivanich—" ("She no longer familiarly called him Theodore).
"What do you wish to say?"