But when I remembered that Pyotr Stepanovitch was still here, I thought no more of it."
As he spoke he took a cursory look round.
"Pyotr Stepanovitch told us an old Petersburg episode in the life of a queer fellow," Varvara Petrovna rejoined enthusiastically—"a mad and capricious fellow, though always lofty in his feelings, always chivalrous and noble...."
"Chivalrous?
You don't mean to say it's come to that," laughed Nicolas.
"However, I'm very grateful to Pyotr Stepanovitch for being in such a hurry this time." He exchanged a rapid glance with the latter.
"You must know, maman, that Pyotr Stepanovitch is the universal peacemaker; that's his part in life, his weakness, his hobby, and I particularly recommend him to you from that point of view.
I can guess what a yarn he's been spinning.
He's a great hand at spinning them; he has a perfect record-office in his head.
He's such a realist, you know, that he can't tell a lie, and prefers truthfulness to effect... except, of course, in special cases when effect is more important than truth." (As he said this he was still looking about him.) "So, you see clearly, maman, that it's not for you to ask my forgiveness, and if there's any craziness about this affair it's my fault, and it proves that, when all's said and done, I really am mad.... I must keep up my character here...."
Then he tenderly embraced his mother.
"In any case the subject has been fully discussed and is done with," he added, and there was a rather dry and resolute note in his voice.
Varvara Petrovna understood that note, but her exaltation was not damped, quite the contrary.
"I didn't expect you for another month, Nicolas!"
"I will explain everything to you, maman, of course, but now..."
And he went towards Praskovya Ivanovna.
But she scarcely turned her head towards him, though she had been completely overwhelmed by his first appearance.
Now she had fresh anxieties to think of; at the moment the captain had stumbled upon Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch as he was going out, Liza had suddenly begun laughing—at first quietly and intermittently, but her laughter grew more and more violent, louder and more conspicuous.
She flushed crimson, in striking contrast with her gloomy expression just before.
While Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was talking to Varvara Petrovna, she had twice beckoned to Mavriky Nikolaevitch as though she wanted to whisper something to him; but as soon as the young man bent down to her, she instantly burst into laughter; so that it seemed as though it was at poor Mavriky Nikolaevitch that she was laughing.
She evidently tried to control herself, however, and put her handkerchief to her lips.
Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch turned to greet her with a most innocent and open-hearted air.
"Please excuse me," she responded, speaking quickly. "You... you've seen Mavriky Nikolaevitch of course.... My goodness, how inexcusably tall you are, Mavriky Nikolaevitch!"
And laughter again, Mavriky Nikolaevitch was tall, but by no means inexcusably so.
"Have... you been here long?" she muttered, restraining herself again, genuinely embarrassed though her eyes were shining.
"More than two hours," answered Nicolas, looking at her intently.
I may remark that he was exceptionally reserved and courteous, but that apart from his courtesy his expression was utterly indifferent, even listless.
"And where are you going to stay?"
"Here."
Varvara Petrovna, too, was watching Liza, but she was suddenly struck by an idea.
"Where have you been all this time, Nicolas, more than two hours?" she said, going up to him.
"The train comes in at ten o'clock."
"I first took Pyotr Stepanovitch to Kirillov's.
I came across Pyotr Stepanovitch at Matveyev (three stations away), and we travelled together."
"I had been waiting at Matveyev since sunrise," put in Pyotr Stepanovitch. "The last carriages of our train ran off the rails in the night, and we nearly had our legs broken."
"Your legs broken!" cried Liza.
"Maman, maman, you and I meant to go to Matveyev last week, we should have broken our legs too!"
"Heaven have mercy on us!" cried Praskovya Ivanovna, crossing herself.
"Maman, maman, dear maman, you mustn't be frightened if I break both my legs. It may so easily happen to me; you say yourself that I ride so recklessly every day.
Mavriky Nikolaevitch, will you go about with me when I'm lame?" She began giggling again.
"If it does happen I won't let anyone take me about but you, you can reckon on that....
Well, suppose I break only one leg. Come, be polite, say you'll think it a pleasure."
"A pleasure to be crippled?" said Mavriky Nikolaevitch, frowning gravely.
"But then you'll lead me about, only you and no one else."
"Even then it'll be you leading me about, Lizaveta Nikolaevna," murmured Mavriky Nikolaevitch, even more gravely.
"Why, he's trying to make a joke!" cried Liza, almost in dismay.
"Mavriky Nikolaevitch, don't you ever dare take to that!
But what an egoist you are!
I am certain that, to your credit, you're slandering yourself. It will be quite the contrary; from morning till night you'll assure me that I have become more charming for having lost my leg.
There's one insurmountable difficulty—you're so fearfully tall, and when I've lost my leg I shall be so very tiny.. How will you be able to take me on your arm; we shall look a strange couple!"