countenance was severe, almost sad.

"What is the matter?" he asked.

"Why have you not kept your word?" she said. "I showed you Christopher
Fedorovich's cantata only on condition that you would not speak to him
about it."

"I was wrong, Lizaveta Mikhailovna--I spoke without thinking."

"You have wounded him and me too. In future he will distrust me as
well as others."

"What could I do, Lizaveta Mikhailovna? From my earliest youth I have
never been able to see a German without feeling tempted to tease him."

"What are you saying, Vladimir Nikolaevich? This German is a poor,
lonely, broken man; and you feel no pity for him! you feel tempted to
tease him!"

Panshine seemed a little disconcerted.

"You are right, Lizaveta Mikhailovna," he said "The fault is entirely
due to my perpetual thoughtlessness. No, do not contradict me. I know
myself well. My thoughtlessness has done me no slight harm. It makes
people suppose that I am an egotist."

Panshine made a brief pause. From whatever point he started a
conversation, he generally ended by speaking about himself, and then
his words seemed almost to escape from him involuntarily, so softly