r.

"I have told you already that I may be mistaken; time will show,
however."

Lisa grew thoughtful. Lavretsky began to tell her about his daily life
at Vassilyevskoe, about Mihalevitch, and about Anton; he felt a need
to talk to Lisa, to share with her everything that was passing in his
heart; she listened so sweetly, so attentively; her few replies and
observations seemed to him so simple and so intelligent. He even told
her so.

Lisa was surprised.

"Really?" she said; "I thought that I was like my maid, Nastya; I had no
words of my own. She said one day to her sweetheart: 'You must be dull
with me; you always talk so finely to me, and I have no words of my
own.'"

"And thank God for it!" thought Lavretsky.

Chapter XXVII

Meanwhile the evening had come on, Marya Dmitrievna expressed a desire
to return home, and the little girls were with difficulty torn away from
the pond, and made ready. Lavretsky declared that he would escort his
guests half-way, and ordered his horse to be saddled. As he was handing
Marya Dmitrievna into the coach, he bethought himself of Lemm; but the
old man could nowhere be found. He had disappeared directly after
the angling was over. Anton, with an energy remarkable for his years,
slammed the doors, and called sharply, "Go on, coachman!" the coach
started. Marya Dmitrievna and Lisa were seated in the back seat; the
children and their maid in the front. The evening was warm and still,
and the windows were open on both sides. Lavretsky trotted near the
coach on the side of Lisa, with his arm leaning on the door--he had
thrown the reigns on the neck of his smoothly-pacing horse--and now and
then he exchanged a few words with the young girl. The glow of sunset
was! disappearing; night came on, but the air seemed to grow even
warmer. Marya Dmitrievna was soon slumbering, the little girls and the
maid fell asleep also. The coach rolled swiftly and smoothly along;
Lisa was bending forward, she felt happy; the rising moon lighted up her
face, the fragrant night on breeze breathed on her eyes and cheeks. Her
hand rested on the coach door near Lavretsky's hand. And he was happy;
borne along in the still warmth of the night, never taking his eyes off
the good young face, listening to the young voice that was melodious
even in a whisper, as it spoke of simple, good things, he did not even
notice that he had gone more than half-way. He did not want to wake
Marya Dmitrievna, he lightly pr