n article by Anonymous, and after every dozen lines
he raised his blue eyes to Liza's back. . . . The same passionate,
fervent love was shining in those eyes still. . . . He was infinitely
happy in spite of his imaginary catarrh of the lungs. . . . Liza
was conscious of his eyes upon her back, and was thinking of
Mishutka's brilliant future, and she felt so comfortable, so serene
. . . .

She was not so much interested by the sea, and the glittering
reflection on the windows of the villa opposite as by the waggons
which were trailing up to that villa one after another.

The waggons were full of furniture and all sorts of domestic articles.
Liza watched the trellis gates and big glass doors of the villa
being opened and the men bustling about the furniture and wrangling
incessantly. Big armchairs and a sofa covered with dark raspberry
coloured velvet, tables for the hall, the drawing-room and the
dining-room, a big double bed and a child's cot were carried in by
the glass doors; something big, wrapped up in sacking, was carried
in too. A grand piano, thought Liza, and her heart throbbed.

It was long since she had heard the piano, and she was so fond of
it. They had not a single musical instrument in their villa. Groholsky
and she were musicians only in soul, no more. There were a great
many boxes and packages with the words: "with care" upon them carried
in after the piano.

They were boxes of looking-glasses and crockery. A gorgeous and
luxurious carriage was dragged in, at the gate, and two white horses
were led in looking like swans.

"My goodness, what riches!" thought Liza, remembering her old pony
which Groholsky, who did not care for riding, had bought her for a
hundred roubles. Compared with those swan-like steeds, her pony
seemed to her no better than a bug. Groholsky, who was afraid of
riding fast, had purposely bought Liza a poor horse.

"What wealth!" Liza thought and murmured as she gazed at the noisy
carriers.

The sun hid behind the tumuli, the air began to lose its dryness
and limpidity, and still the furniture was being driven up and
hauled into the house. At last it was so dark that Groholsky left
off reading the newspaper while Liza still gazed and gazed.

"Shouldn't we light the lamp?" said Groholsky, afraid that a fly
might drop into his milk and be swallowed in the darkness.

"Liza! shouldn't we light the lamp? Shall we sit in darkness, my
angel?"

Liza did not answer. She was interes