terrupt her inquisitive observations and run
from the verandah to his room. At dinner-time she had to put on
mustard plasters. How boring all this would have been, O reader,
if the villa opposite had not been at the service of my heroine!
Liza watched that villa all day long and was gasping with happiness.

At ten o'clock Ivan Petrovitch and Mishutka came back from fishing
and had breakfast. At two o'clock they had dinner, and at four
o'clock they drove off somewhere in a carriage. The white horses
bore them away with the swiftness of lightning. At seven o'clock
visitors came to see them--all of them men. They were playing
cards on two tables in the verandah till midnight. One of the men
played superbly on the piano. The visitors played, ate, drank, and
laughed. Ivan Petrovitch guffawing loudly, told them an anecdote
of Armenian life at the top of his voice, so that all the villas
round could hear. It was very gay and Mishutka sat up with them
till midnight.

"Misha is merry, he is not crying," thought Liza, "so he does not
remember his mamma. So he has forgotten me!"

And there was a horrible bitter feeling in Liza's soul. She spent
the whole night crying. She was fretted by her little conscience,
and by vexation and misery, and the desire to talk to Mishutka and
kiss him. . . . In the morning she got up with a headache and
tear-stained eyes. Her tears Groholsky put down to his own account.

"Do not weep, darling," he said to her, "I am all right to-day, my
chest is a little painful, but that is nothing."

While they were having tea, lunch was being served at the villa
opposite. Ivan Petrovitch was looking at his plate, and seeing
nothing but a morsel of goose dripping with fat.

"I am very glad," said Groholsky, looking askance at Bugrov, "very
glad that his life is so tolerable! I hope that decent surroundings
anyway may help to stifle his grief. Keep out of sight, Liza! They
will see you . . . I am not disposed to talk to him just now . . .
God be with him! Why trouble his peace?"

But the dinner did not pass off so quietly. During dinner precisely
that "awkward position" which Groholsky so dreaded occurred. Just
when the partridges, Groholsky's favorite dish, had been put on the
table, Liza was suddenly overcome with confusion, and Groholsky
began wiping his face with his dinner napkin. On the verandah of
the villa opposite they saw Bugrov. He was standing with his arms
leaning on the parapet, and staring