man, and begged his pardon. After
breakfast Lemm played his cantata, and after dinner, at Lavretsky's
own instigation, he again began to talk about Liza. Lavretsky listened
to him attentively and with curiosity.

"What do you say to this, Christopher Fedorovitch?" he said at last.
"Every thing seems in order here now, and the garden is in full bloom.
Why shouldn't I invite her to come here for the day, with her mother
and my old aunt--eh? Will that be agreeable to you?"

Lemm bowed his head over his plate.

"Invite her," he said, in a scarcely audible voice.

"But we needn't ask Panshine."

"No, we needn't," answered the old man, with an almost childlike
smile.

Two days later Lavretsky went into town and to the Kalatines'.

XXIV.

He found them all at home, but he did not tell them of his plan
immediately. He wanted to speak to Liza alone first. Chance favored
him, and he was left alone with her in the drawing-room. They began to
talk. As a general rule she was never shy with any one, and by this
time she had succeeded in becoming accustomed to him. He listened to
what she said, and as he looked at her face, he musingly repeated
Lemm's words, and agreed with him. It sometimes happens that
two persons who are already acquainted with each other, but not
intimately, after the lapse of a few minutes suddenly become familiar
friends--and the consciousness of this familiarity immediately
expresses itself in their looks, in their gentle and kindly smiles, in
their gestures themselves. And this happened now with Lavretsky and
Liza. "Ah, so that's what's you're like!" thought she, looking at him
with friendly eyes. "Ah, so that's what's you're like!" thought he
also; and therefore he was not much surprised when she informed him,
not without some little hesitation, that she had long wanted to say
something to him, but that she was afraid of vexing him.

"Don't be afraid, speak out," he said, standing still in front of her.

Liza raised her clear eyes to his.

"You are so good," she began--and at the same time she thought, "yes,
he is really good"--"I hope you will forgive me. I scarcely ought to
have ventured to speak to you about it--but how could you--why did you
separate from your wife?"

Lavretsky shuddered, then looked at Liza, and sat down by her side.

"My child," he began to say, "I beg you not to touch upon that wound.
Your touch is light, but--in spite of all that, it will give me pain."

"I k