th happiness, Groholsky lost everything; the woman he loved
and. . .

That year Bugrov, too, visited the Crimea. He did not take the villa
opposite, but pottered about, going from one town to another with
Mishutka. He spent his time eating, drinking, sleeping, and playing
cards. He had lost all relish for fishing, shooting and the French
women, who, between ourselves, had robbed him a bit. He had grown
thin, lost his broad and beaming smiles, and had taken to dressing
in canvas. Ivan Petrovitch from time to time visited Groholsky's
villa. He brought Liza jam, sweets, and fruit, and seemed trying
to dispel her ennui. Groholsky was not troubled by these visits,
especially as they were brief and infrequent, and were apparently
paid on account of Mishutka, who could not under any circumstances
have been altogether deprived of the privilege of seeing his mother.
Bugrov came, unpacked his presents, and after saying a few words,
departed. And those few words he said not to Liza but to Groholsky
. . . . With Liza he was silent and Groholsky's mind was at rest; but
there is a Russian proverb which he would have done well to remember:
"Don't fear the dog that barks, but fear the dog that's quiet. . . ."
A fiendish proverb, but in practical life sometimes indispensable.

As he was walking in the garden one day, Groholsky heard two voices
in conversation. One voice was a man's, the other was a woman's.
One belonged to Bugrov, the other to Liza. Groholsky listened, and
turning white as death, turned softly towards the speakers. He
halted behind a lilac bush, and proceeded to watch and listen. His
arms and legs turned cold. A cold sweat came out upon his brow. He
clutched several branches of the lilac that he might not stagger
and fall down. All was over!

Bugrov had his arm round Liza's waist, and was saying to her:

"My darling! what are we to do? It seems it was God's will. . . .
I am a scoundrel. . . . I sold you. I was seduced by that Herod's
money, plague take him, and what good have I had from the money?
Nothing but anxiety and display! No peace, no happiness, no position
. . . . One sits like a fat invalid at the same spot, and never a
step forwarder. . . . Have you heard that Andrushka Markuzin has
been made a head clerk? Andrushka, that fool! While I stagnate. . . .
Good heavens! I have lost you, I have lost my happiness. I am
a scoundrel, a blackguard, how do you think I shall feel at the
dread day of judgment?"

"L