She hoped that he would immediately take his departure; but he went into Márya Dmítrievna's boudoir, and sat with her for about an hour. As he went away, he said to Liza: "_Votre mère vous appelle; adieu à jamais_ ..." mounted his horse, and set off from the very porch at full gallop. Liza went in to Márya Dmítrievna, and found her in tears: Pánshin had communicated to her his misfortune.
"Why hast thou killed me? Why hast thou killed me?"--in this wise did the mortified widow begin her complaints.--"Whom else didst thou want? What! is not he a suitable husband for thee? A Junior Gentleman of the Emperor's Bedchamber! not _interessant_! He might marry any Maid of Honour he chose in Petersburg. And I--I had been hoping so! And hast thou changed long toward him? What has sent this cloud drifting hither--it did not come of itself! Can it be that ninny? A pretty counsellor thou hast found!
"And he, my dear one,"--pursued Márya Dmítrievna:--"how respectful, how attentive, even in his own grief! He has promised not to abandon me. Akh, I shall not survive this! Akh, I have got a deadly headache. Send Palásha to me. Thou wilt be the death of me, if thou dost not change thy mind,--dost thou hear?" And calling her an ingrate a couple of times, Márya Dmítrievna sent Liza away.
She went to her own room. But before she had time to recover her breath from her explanation with Pánshin and her mother, another thunderstorm broke over her, and this time from a quarter whence she had least expected it. Márfa Timoféevna entered her room, and immediately slammed the door behind her. The old woman's face was pale, her cap was awry, her eyes were flashing, her hands and lips were trembling. Liza was amazed: never before had she seen her sensible and reasonable aunt in such a state.
"Very fine, madam,"--began Márfa Timoféevna, in a tremulous and broken whisper: "very fine indeed! From whom hast thou learned this, my mother?... Give me water; I cannot speak."
"Calm yourself, aunty; what is the matter with you?"--said Liza, giving her a glass of water.--"Why, you yourself did not favour Mr. Pánshin."
"I cannot drink: I shall knock out my last remaining teeth. What dost thou mean by Panshín? What has Panshín to do with it? Do thou tell me, rather, who taught thee to appoint rendezvous by night--hey? my mother?"