“Yes, when she has means a wife need not depend on her husband. A good wife submits to her husband,” said Varvára Alexéevna—“only Liza is too weak after her illness.”
“Oh no, mamma, I feel quite well. But why have they not brought you any boiled cream?”
“I don’t want any. I can do with raw cream.”
“I offered some to Varvára Alexéevna, but she declined,” said Mary Pávlovna, as if justifying herself.
“No, I don’t want any today.” And as if to terminate an unpleasant conversation and yield magnanimously, Varvára Alexéevna turned to Eugène and said: “Well, and have you sprinkled the phosphates?”
Liza ran to fetch the cream.
“But I don’t want it. I don’t want it.”
“Liza, Liza, go gently,” said Mary Pávlovna. “Such rapid movements do her harm.”
“Nothing does harm if one’s mind is at peace,” said Varvára Alexéevna as if referring to something, though she knew that there was nothing her words could refer to.
Liza returned with the cream and Eugène drank his coffee and listened morosely. He was accustomed to these conversations, but today he was particularly annoyed by its lack of sense. He wanted to think over what had happened to him but this chatter disturbed him. Having finished her coffee Varvára Alexéevna went away in a bad humour. Liza, Eugène, and Mary Pávlovna stayed behind, and their conversation was simple and pleasant. But Liza, being sensitive, at once noticed that something was tormenting Eugène, and she asked him whether anything unpleasant had