measured a cadence.

Panshin meanwhile continued to keep up the conversation. He turned it
upon the profits of sugar-boiling, on which he had lately read two
French pamphlets, and with modest composure undertook to expound their
contents, without mentioning, however, a single word about the source of
his information.

"Good God, it is Fedya!" came through the half-opened door the voice of
Marfa Timofyevna in the next room. "Fedya himself!" and the old woman
ran hurriedly into the room. Lavretsky had not time to get up from his
seat before she had him in her arms. "Let me have a look at you," she
said, holding his face off at arm's length. "Ah! what a splendid fellow
you are! You've grown older a little, but not a bit changed for the
worse, upon my word! But why are you kissing my hands--kiss my face if
you're not afraid of my wrinkled cheeks. You never asked after
me--whether your aunt was alive--I warrant: and you were in my arms as
soon as you were born, you great rascal! Well, that is nothing to you, I
suppose; why should you remember me? But it was a good idea of yours to
come back. And pray," she added, turning to Marya Dmitrievna, "have you
offered him something to eat?"

"I don't want anything," Lavretsky hastened to declare.

"Come, you must at least have some tea, my dear. Lord have mercy on us!
He has come from I don't know where, and they don't even give him a cup
of tea! Lisa, run and stir them up, and make haste. I remember he was
dreadfully greedy when he was a little fellow, and he likes good things
now, I daresay."