l like going home; he walked out beyond the town,
into the fields. The night was tranquil and bright, although there was no
moon; Lavretzky roamed about on the dewy grass for a long time; he came
by accident upon a narrow path; he walked along it. It led him to a long
fence, to a wicket-gate; he tried, without himself knowing why, to push
it open: it creaked softly, and opened, as though it had been awaiting
the pressure of his hand; Lavretzky found himself in a garden, advanced
a few paces along an avenue of lindens, and suddenly stopped short in
amazement: he recognised the garden of the Kalitins.

He immediately stepped into a black blot of shadow which was cast by a
thick hazel-bush, and stood for a long time motionless, wondering and
shrugging his shoulders.

"This has not happened for nothing," he thought.

Everything was silent round about; not a sound was borne to him from the
direction of the house. He cautiously advanced. Lo, at the turn in the
avenue, the whole house suddenly gazed at him with its dark front; only
in two of the upper windows were lights twinkling: in Liza's room, a
candle was burning behind a white shade, and in Marfa Timofeevna's
bedroom a shrine-lamp was glowing with a red gleam in front of the holy
pictures, reflecting itself in an even halo in the golden settings;
down-stairs, the door leading out on the balcony yawned broadly, as it
stood wide open. Lavretzky seated himself on a wooden bench, propped his
head on his hand, and began to gaze at the door and the window. Midnight
struck in the town; in the house, the small clocks shrilly rang out
twelve; the watchman beat with a riffle of taps on the board. Lavretzky
thought of nothing, expected nothing; it was pleasant to him to feel
himself near Liza, to sit in her garden on the bench, where she also had
sat more than once.... The light disappeared in Liza's room.

"Good night, my dear girl," whispered Lavretzky, as he continued to sit
motionless, and without taking his eyes from the darkened window.

Suddenly a light appeared in one of the windows of the lower storey,
passed to a second, a third.... Some one was walking through the rooms
with a candle. "Can it be Liza? Impossible!"... Lavretzky half rose to
his feet. A familiar figure flitted past, and Liza made her appearance in
the drawing-room. In a white gown, with her hair hanging loosely on her
shoulders, she softly approached a table, bent over it, set down the
candle, and sear