out of sight in a small Italian
town, but for a long time he could not help following his wife's
movements. From the newspapers he learned that she had gone from Paris
to Baden as she had arranged; her name soon appeared in an article
written by the same M. Jules. In this article there was a kind of
sympathetic condolence apparent under the habitual playfulness; there
was a deep sense of disgust in the soul of Fedor Ivanitch as he read
this article. Afterwards he learned that a daughter had been born to
him; two months later he received a notification from his steward that
Varvara Pavlovna had asked for the first quarter's allowance. Then worse
and worse rumors began to reach him; at last, a tragic-comic story
was reported with acclamations in all the papers. His wife played an
unenviable part in it. It was the finishing stroke; Varvara Pavlovna had
become a "notoriety."

Lavretsky ceased to follow her movements; but he could not quickly gain
mastery over himself. Sometimes he was overcome by such a longing for
his wife that he would have given up everything, he thought, even,
perhaps... could have forgiven her, only to hear her caressing voice
again, to feel again her hand in his. Time, however, did not pass in
vain. He was not born to be a victim; his healthy nature reasserted its
rights. Much became clear to him; even the blow that had fallen on him
no longer seemed to him to have been quite unforeseen; he understood his
wife,--we can only fully understand those who are near to us, when we
are separated from them. He could take up his interests, could work
again, though with nothing like his former zeal; scepticism, half-formed
already by the experiences of his life, and by his education, took
complete possession of his heart. He became indifferent to everything.
Four years passed by, and he felt himself strong enough to return to his
country, to meet his own people. Without stopping at Petersburg or at
Moscow he came to the town of O-----, where we parted from him, and
whither we will now ask the indulgent reader to return with us.

Chapter XVII

The morning after the day we have described, at ten o'clock, Lavretsky
was mounting the steps of the Kalitins' house. He was met by Lisa coming
out in her hat and gloves.

"Where are you going?" he asked her.

"To service. It is Sunday."

"Why do you go to church?"

Lisa looked at him in silent amazement.

"I beg your pardon," said Lavretsky; "I--I did not