"Tell me, please," he began; "Marya Dmitrievna has just been talking to me about this--what's his name?--Panshin? What sort of man is he?"
"What a chatterbox she is, Lord save us! She told you, I suppose, as a secret that he has turned up as a suitor, and so far, there's nothing to tell, thank God! But already she's gossipping about him."
"Why thank God?"
"Because I don't like the fine young gentleman; and so what is there to be glad of in it?
"Well, shall we see you again soon?" the old lady asked, as he rose to depart.
"Very likely, aunt; it's not so far, you know."
"Well, go, then, and God be with you. And Lisa's not going to marry Panshin; don't you trouble yourself--that's not the sort of husband she deserves."
Lavretsky lived alone at Vassilyevskoe, and often rode into O------ to see his cousins. He saw a good deal of Lisa's music-master, an old German named Christopher Theodor Lemm, and, finding much in common with him, invited him to stay for a few days.
"Maestro," said Lavretsky one morning at breakfast, "you will soon have to compose a triumphal cantata."