became clear to him; the very blow which had assailed him,
no longer seemed to him unforeseen; he understood his wife,--one
understands a person who is near to one, when parted from him. Again he
was able to occupy himself, to work, although with far less zeal than of
yore: scepticism, for which the way had been prepared by the experiences
of life, by his education, definitively took possession of his soul. He
became extremely indifferent to everything. Four years elapsed, and he
felt himself strong enough to return to his native land, to meet his own
people. Without halting either in Petersburg or Moscow, he arrived in the
town of O * * * where we took leave of him, and whither we now beg the
indulgent reader to return with us.

XVII

On the morning following the day which we have described, at nine
o'clock, Lavretzky ascended the porch of the Kalitin house. Liza
emerged to meet him, in hat and gloves.

"Where are you going?" he asked her.

"To church. To-day is Sunday."

"And do you really care to go to the Liturgy?"

Liza said nothing, but gazed at him in amazement.

"Pardon me, please,"--said Lavretzky,--"I ... I did not mean to say
that. I came to say good-bye to you: I am going to my country place an
hour hence."

"It is not far from here, is it?"--inquired Liza.

"Twenty-five versts."

Lyenotchka made her appearance on the threshold of the door, accompanied
by a maid.

"See that you do not forget us,"--said Liza, and descended the steps.

"And do not you forget me. And see here,"--he added,--"you are going to
church: pray for me also, by the way."

Liza paused and turned toward him.

"Certainly,"--she said, looking him straight in the face:--"I will pray
for you. Come along, Lyenotchka."

Lavretzky found Marya Dmitrievna alone in the drawing-room. An odour
of eau de cologne and mint emanated from her. She had a headache,
according to her own account, and she had passed a restless night. She
welcomed him with her customary languid amiability, and gradually got to
talking.

"What an agreeable young man Vladimir Nikolaitch is," she inquired:--"is
he not?"

"What Vladimir Nikolaitch?"

"Why, Panshin, you know,--the one who was here yesterday evening. He
took an immense liking to you; I will tell you, as a secret, _mon cher
cousin_, he is simply beside himself over my Liza. What do you think of
that? He comes of a good family, he discharges his service