drift close inshore. The tall, reddish reeds rustled softly around
them, in front of them the motionless water gleamed softly, and their
conversation was soft also. Liza stood on a small raft; Lavretzky sat on
the inclined trunk of a willow; Liza wore a white gown, girt about the
waist with a broad ribbon, also white in hue; her straw hat was hanging
from one hand, with the other, she supported, with some effort, the
curved fishing-rod. Lavretzky gazed at the pure, rather severe profile,
at her hair tucked behind her ears, at her soft cheeks, which were as
sunburned as those of a child,--and said to himself: "O how charmingly
thou standest on my pond!" Liza did not turn toward him, but stared at
the water,--and half smiled, half screwed up her eyes. The shadow of a
linden-tree near at hand fell upon both of them.

"Do you know,"--began Lavretzky:--"I have been thinking a great deal
about my last conversation with you, and have come to the conclusion,
that you are extraordinarily kind."

"I did not mean it in that way at all ..." Liza began,--and was overcome
with shame.

"You are kind,"--repeated Lavretzky. "I am a rough man, but I feel that
every one must love you. There's Lemm now, for example: he is simply in
love with you."

Liza's brows quivered, rather than contracted; this always happened with
her when she heard something disagreeable.

"I felt very sorry for him to-day,"--Lavretzky resumed:--"with his
unsuccessful romance. To be young, and be able to do a thing--that can be
borne; but to grow old, and not have the power--is painful. And the
offensive thing about it is, that you are not conscious when your powers
begin to wane. It is difficult for an old man to endure these shocks!...
Look out, the fish are biting at your hook.... They say,"--added
Lavretzky, after a brief pause,--"that Vladimir Nikolaitch has written
a very pretty romance."

"Yes,"--replied Liza;--"it is a trifle, but it is not bad."

"And what is your opinion,"--asked Lavretzky:--"is he a good musician?"

"It seems to me that he has great talent for music; but up to the present
time he has not cultivated it as he should."

"Exactly. And is he a nice man?"

Liza laughed, and cast a quick glance at Feodor Ivanitch.

"What a strange question!"--she exclaimed, drawing up her hook, and
flinging it far out again.

"Why is it strange?--I am asking you about him as a man who has recently
come hither, as your relative."

"As a relative?"