"I shall write to him at once. If that's how it was, it's just an empty falling-out; all nonsense! And I know Darya only too well. Nonsense!"
"About Dashenka I confess... my sin. They were just ordinary conversations, and aloud, too. But, dearest, it all upset me so at the time. And Liza herself became close to her again as affectionately as before, I saw it..."
That same day Varvara Petrovna wrote to Nicolas, begging him to come at least a month earlier than the time he had fixed. But for her there still remained something unclear and unknown in it. She spent the whole evening and the whole night thinking. Praskovya's opinion seemed too innocent and sentimental to her. "Praskovya has been too emotional all her life, ever since boarding school," she thought. "It's not like Nicolas to run away because of a girl's taunts. There's some other reason, if indeed there was a falling-out. That officer is here, however, they've brought him with them, and he's living in their house like a relative. And Praskovya confessed much too quickly about Darya; she must have left something out, something she didn't want to tell..."
By morning a project had ripened in Varvara Petrovna for putting an immediate end to at least one perplexity—a project remarkable for its unexpectedness. What was in her heart when she created it? It is difficult to say, and I will not undertake to explain beforehand all the contradictions that went into it. As a chronicler I limit myself simply to presenting events in an exact way, exactly as they occurred, and it is not my fault if they appear incredible. Nevertheless, I must testify once again that by morning she had no remaining suspicions about Dasha, and, in truth, there had been none to begin with—she was too sure of her. And she could not admit the idea that her Nicolas could take a fancy to her ... "Darya." In the morning, while Darya Pavlovna was pouring tea at the tea table, Varvara Petrovna studied her long and fixedly and, perhaps for the twentieth time since the day before, said confidently to herself:
"It's all nonsense!"
She only noticed that Dasha looked somehow tired and that she was even quieter than before, even more apathetic. After tea, following a custom established once and for all, they both sat down to needlework. Varvara Petrovna told her to make a full report of her impressions abroad, mainly of nature, the inhabitants, the towns, their art and industry—everything she had managed to notice. Not one question about the Drozdovs or her life with the Drozdovs. Dasha, who was sitting next to her at the worktable helping her with some embroidery, had already been talking for about half an hour in her even, monotonous, but somewhat weak voice.
"Darya," Varvara Petrovna suddenly interrupted her, "is there anything special you wish to tell me?"
"No, nothing," Darya thought for a moment and looked at Varvara Petrovna with her light eyes.
"Nothing on your soul, on your heart, on your conscience?"
"Nothing," Dasha repeated softly, but with a sort of sullen firmness.
"So I thought! Believe me, Darya, I shall never have doubts of you. Now sit and listen. Come and sit on this chair, facing me, I want to see all of you. So. Listen—do you want to be married?"
Dasha responded with a long, questioning, though not too surprised look.
"Wait, don't speak. First of all there is a difference in age, a very great difference; but you know better than anyone what nonsense that is. You're a reasonable girl, and there should be no mistakes in your life. He is still a handsome man, by the way ... In short, Stepan Trofimovich, whom you have always respected. Well?"
Dasha looked even more questioningly, and this time was not only surprised, but even blushed visibly.
"Wait, don't speak, don't be hasty! You have money left to you in my will, but if I should die, what will become of you even with money? They will deceive you and take your money—well, and that's the end of you. But with him you will be the wife of a noted man. Now look at it from the other side: if I were to die now—even if I provide for him—what will become of him? But on you I can truly rely. Wait, I haven't finished: he is light-minded, a maunderer, cruel, an egoist, with base habits, but you will appreciate him, first of all, because there are much worse. I'm not trying to get you off my hands by marrying you to some scoundrel, you're not thinking that! And above all because I ask it of you, that's why you will appreciate him," she broke off irritably all of a sudden. "Do you hear? Why are you staring?"
Dasha listened and kept silent.
"Wait, one more thing. He's an old granny—but so much the better for you. A pitiful old granny, by the way; it's not worthwhile a woman's loving him. But it is worthwhile loving him for his defenselessness, and you will love him for his defenselessness. Do you understand me? Do you?"
Dasha nodded affirmatively.
"I just knew you would, I expected nothing less of you. He will love you, because he must, he must; he must adore you!" Varvara Petrovna shrieked with some peculiar irritation. "And in any case he will fall in love with you even without any duty, I know him. Besides, I will be here myself. Don't worry, I will always be here. He will start complaining about you, he will begin to slander you, he will whisper about you with the first person he meets, he will whine, whine eternally; he will write letters to you from one room to another, two letters a day, but still he won't be able to live without you, and that is the main thing. Make him obey; if you can't, you're a fool. He will want to hang himself, he will threaten to—don't believe him; it's just nonsense! Don't believe him, but still keep your ears pricked up; who knows, maybe he wilclass="underline" it does happen with his kind; they hang themselves not out of strength but out of weakness; so you must never push it to the last limit—that is the first rule of married life. Remember also that he is a poet. Listen, Darya: there is no higher happiness than to sacrifice yourself. Besides, you will give me great pleasure, and that is the main thing. Don't think I'm just blathering out of foolishness; I understand what I'm saying. I am an egoist, and you be an egoist, too. I'm not forcing you; it's all your will; as you say, so it shall be. Well, why are you sitting there? Say something!"
"It makes no difference to me, Varvara Petrovna, if it's necessary for me to be married," Dasha said firmly.
"Necessary? What are you hinting at?" Varvara Petrovna looked sternly and fixedly at her.
Dasha was silent, poking the needle into her embroidery.
"Though you're an intelligent girl, that's just blather. Though it's true that I've firmly decided to get you married now, it's not from necessity, but only because the thought occurred to me, and only because it's Stepan Trofimovich. If it weren't for Stepan Trofimovich, I wouldn't have thought of getting you married now, though you're already twenty years old... Well?"