et us go away, Vanya," wailed Liza. "I am dull. . . . I am dying
of depression."

"We cannot, the money has been taken. . . ."

"Well, give it back again."

"I should be glad to, but . . . wait a minute. I have spent it all.
We must submit, my girl. God is chastising us. Me for my covetousness
and you for your frivolity. Well, let us be tortured. . . . It will
be the better for us in the next world."

And in an access of religious feeling, Bugrov turned up his eyes
to heaven.

"But I cannot go on living here; I am miserable."

"Well, there is no help for it. I'm miserable too. Do you suppose
I am happy without you? I am pining and wasting away! And my chest
has begun to be bad! . . . You are my lawful wife, flesh of my flesh
. . . one flesh. . . . You must live and bear it! While I . . .
will drive over . . . visit you."

And bending down to Liza, Bugrov whispered, loudly enough, however,
to be heard several yards away:

"I will come to you at night, Lizanka. . . . Don't worry. . . . I
am staying at Feodosia close by. . . . I will live here near you
till I have run through everything . . . and I soon shall be at my
last farthing! A-a-ah, what a life it is! Dreariness, ill . . . my
chest is bad, and my stomach is bad."

Bugrov ceased speaking, and then it was Liza's turn. . . . My God,
the cruelty of that woman! She began weeping, complaining, enumerating
all the defects of her lover and her own sufferings. Groholsky as
he listened to her, felt that he was a villain, a miscreant, a
murderer.

"He makes me miserable. . . ." Liza said in conclusion.

After kissing Liza at parting, and going out at the garden gate,
Bugrov came upon Groholsky, who was standing at the gate waiting
for him.

"Ivan Petrovitch," said Groholsky in the tone of a dying man, "I
have seen and heard it all. . . It's not honourable on your part,
but I do not blame you. . . . You love her too, but you must
understand that she is mine. Mine! I cannot live without her! How
is it you don't understand that? Granted that you love her, that
you are miserable. . . . Have I not paid you, in part at least, for
your sufferings? For God's sake, go away! For God's sake, go away!
Go away from here for ever, I implore you, or you will kill me. . . ."

"I have nowhere to go," Bugrov said thickly.

"H'm, you have squandered everything. . . . You are an impulsive
man. Very well. . . . Go to my estate in the province of Tchernigov.
If you like I will