In weal or woe.

My heart replete with love that grieves
But yields no cry,
I suffer--cold as yonder moon
Thou passest by.

Panshine sang the second stanza with more than usual expression and
feeling; in the stormy accompaniment might be heard the rolling of the
waves. After the words, "I suffer!" he breathed a light sigh, and with
downcast eyes let his voice die gradually away. When he had finished;
Liza praised the air, Maria Dmitrievna said, "Charming!" and
Gedeonovsky exclaimed, "Enchanting!--the words and the music are
equally enchanting!" Lenochka kept her eyes fixed on the singer
with childish reverence. In a word, the composition of the young
_dilettante_ delighted all who were in the room. But outside the
drawing-room door, in the vestibule, there stood, looking on the
floor, an old man who had just come into the house, to whom, judging
from the expression of his face and the movements of his shoulders,
Panshine's romance, though really pretty, did not afford much
pleasure. After waiting a little, and having dusted his boots with
a coarse handkerchief, he suddenly squeezed up his eyes, morosely
compressed his lips, gave his already curved back an extra bend, and
slowly entered the drawing-room.

"Ah! Christophor Fedorovich, how do you do?" Panshine was the first to
exclaim, as he jumped up quickly from his chair. "I didn't suspect you
were there. I wouldn't for any thing have ventured to sing my romance
before you. I know you are no admirer of the light style in music."