ectionately and smiling brightly, "but
we couldn't get on at all. Fancy, I couldn't play two notes together
correctly."

"You'd better have sung your song again," replied Lemm, removing
Panshin's hands, and he walked away.

Lisa ran after him. She overtook him on the stairs.

"Christopher Fedoritch, I want to tell you," she said to him in German,
accompanying him over the short green grass of the yard to the gate, "I
did wrong--forgive me."

Lemm made no answer.

"I showed Vladimir Nikolaitch your cantata; I felt sure he would
appreciate it,--and he did like it very much really."

Lemm stopped.

"It's no matter," he said in Russian, and then added in his own
language, "but he cannot understand anything; how is it you don't see
that? He's a dilettante--and that's all!"

"You are unjust to him," replied Lisa, "he understands everything, and
he can do almost everything himself."

"Yes, everything second-rate, cheap, scamped work. That pleases, and he
pleases, and he is glad it is so--and so much the better. I'm not angry;
the cantata and I--we are a pair of old fools; I'm a little ashamed, but
it's no matter."

"Forgive me, Christopher Fedoritch," Lisa said again.

"It's no matter," he repeated in Russian, "you're a good girl... but
here is some one coming to see you. Goodbye. You are a very good girl."

And Lemm moved with hastened steps towards the gate, through which had
entered some gentleman unknown to him in a grey coat and a wide straw
hat. Bowing politely to him (he always saluted all new faces in the town
of O-----; from acquaintances he always turned aside in the street--that
was the rule he had laid down for himself), Lemm passed by and
disappeared behind the fence. The stranger looked after him in
amazement, and after gazing attentively at Lisa, went straight up to
her.

Chapter VII

"You don't recognise me," he said, taking off his hat, "but I recognise
you in spite of its being seven years since I saw you last. You were a
child then. I am Lavretsky. Is your mother at home? Can I see her?"

"Mamma will be glad to see you," replied Lisa; "she had heard of your
arrival."

"Let me see, I think your name is Elisaveta?" said Lavretsky, as he went
up the stairs.

"Yes."

"I remember you very well; you had even then a face one doesn't forget.
I used to bring you sweets in those days."

Lisa blushed and thought what a queer man. Lavretsky stopped for an
instant in the hall. Lisa went i