"I don't want any. I can do with raw cream."
"I offered some to Varvara Alexeevna, but she declined," said Mary Pavlovna, as if justifying herself.
"No, I don't want any to-day." And as if to terminate an unpleasant conversation and yield magnanimously, Varvara Alexeevna turned to Eugene 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 Pavlovna. "Such rapid movements do her harm."
"Nothing does harm, if one's mind is at peace," said Varvara Alexeevna as if referring to something, though she knew that there was nothing that her words could refer to.
Liza returned with the cream, Eugene drank his coffee and listened morosely. He was accustomed to these conversations, but to-day 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 Varvara Alexeevna went away in a bad humour. Liza, Eugene, and Mary Pavlovna stayed behind, and their conversation was simple and pleasant. But Liza, being sensitive, at once noticed that something was tormenting Eugene, and she asked him whether anything unpleasant had happened. He was not prepared for this question, and hesitated a little before replying that there had been nothing unpleasant. And this reply made Liza think all the more; that something was tormenting, and greatly tormenting, him was as evident to her as the fact that a fly had fallen into the milk, yet he did not speak of it. What could it be?
XI
After breakfast they all dispersed. Eugene as usual went to his study. He did not begin reading or writing his letters, but sat smoking one cigarette after another and thinking. He was terribly surprised and disturbed by the expected recrudescence within him of the bad feeling from which he had thought himself free since his marriage. Since then he had not once experienced that feeling, either for her—the woman he had known—or for any other woman except his wife. He had often felt glad of this emancipation, and now suddenly a chance meeting, seemingly so unimportant, revealed to him the fact that he was not free. What now tormented him was not that he was yielding to that feeling and desired her—he did not dream of so doing—but that the feeling was awake within him and he had to be on his guard against it. He had no doubt but that he would suppress it.