"Such a feeling does you honour," Varvara Petrovna approved magnificently.
Yulia Mihailovna impulsively held out her hand and Varvara Petrovna with perfect readiness touched it with her fingers.
The general effect was excellent, the faces of some of those present beamed with pleasure, some bland and insinuating smiles were to be seen.
In short it was made manifest to every one in the town that it was not Yulia Mihailovna who had up till now neglected Varvara Petrovna in not calling upon her, but on the contrary that Varvara Petrovna had "kept Yulia Mihailovna within bounds at a distance, while the latter would have hastened to pay her a visit, going on foot perhaps if necessary, had she been fully assured that Varvara Petrovna would not turn her away."
And Varvara Petrovna's prestige was enormously increased.
"Get in, my dear." Varvara Petrovna motioned Mlle. Lebyadkin towards the carriage which had driven up. The "unhappy creature" hurried gleefully to the carriage door, and there the footman lifted her in.
"What!
You're lame!" cried Varvara Petrovna, seeming quite alarmed, and she turned pale. (Every one noticed it at the time, but did not understand it.)
The carriage rolled away.
Varvara Petrovna's house was very near the cathedral.
Liza told me afterwards that Miss Lebyadkin laughed hysterically for the three minutes that the drive lasted, while Varvara Petrovna sat "as though in a mesmeric sleep." Liza's own expression.
CHAPTER V. THE SUBTLE SERPENT
VARVARA PETROVNA rang the bell and threw herself into an easy chair by the window.
"Sit here, my dear." She motioned Marya Timofyevna to a seat in the middle of the room, by a large round table.
"Stepan Trofimovitch, what is the meaning of this?
See, see, look at this woman, what is the meaning of it?"
"I... I..." faltered Stepan Trofimovitch.
But a footman came in.
"A cup of coffee at once, we must have it as quickly as possible!
Keep the horses!"
"Mais, chere et excellente amie, dans quelle inquietude..." Stepan Trofimovitch exclaimed in a dying voice.
"Ach! French! French!
I can see at once that it's the highest society," cried Marya Timofyevna, clapping her hands, ecstatically preparing herself to listen to a conversation in French.
Varvara Petrovna stared at her almost in dismay.
We all sat in silence, waiting to see how it would end.
Shatov did not lift up his head, and Stepan Trofimovitch was overwhelmed with confusion as though it were all his fault; the perspiration stood out on his temples.
I glanced at Liza (she was sitting in the corner almost beside Shatov).
Her eyes darted keenly from Varvara Petrovna to the cripple and back again; her lips were drawn into a smile, but not a pleasant one.
Varvara Petrovna saw that smile.
Meanwhile Marya Timofyevna was absolutely transported. With evident enjoyment and without a trace of embarrassment she stared at Varvara Petrovna's beautiful drawing-room—the furniture, the carpets, the pictures on the walls, the old-fashioned painted ceiling, the great bronze crucifix in the corner, the china lamp, the albums, the objects on the table.
"And you're here, too, Shatushka!" she cried suddenly. "Only fancy, I saw you a long time ago, but I thought it couldn't be you!
How could you come here!" And she laughed gaily.
"You know this woman?" said Varvara Petrovna, turning to him at once.
"I know her," muttered Shatov. He seemed about to move from his chair, but remained sitting.
"What do you know of her?
Make haste, please!"
"Oh, well..." he stammered with an incongruous smile. "You see for yourself...."
"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.