nce."

"Yes," replied Liza, "it is a small matter; but it isn't bad."

"But what is your opinion about him himself?" asked Lavretsky. "Is he
a good musician?"

"I think he has considerable musical faculty. But as yet he has not
cultivated it as he ought."

"Just so. But is he a good man?"

Liza laughed aloud, and looked up quickly at Fedor Ivanovich.

"What a strange question!" she exclaimed, withdrawing her line from
the water, and then throwing it a long way in again.

"Why strange? I ask you about him as one who has been away from here a
long time--as a relation."

"As a relation?"

"Yes. I believe I am a sort of uncle of yours."

"Vladimir Nikolaevich has a good heart," said Liza. "He is clever.
Mamma likes him very much."

"But you--do you like him?"

"He is a good man. Why shouldn't I like him?"

"Ah!" said Lavretsky, and became silent. A half-sad, half-mocking
expression played upon his face. The fixed look with which he regarded
her troubled Liza; but she went on smiling.

"Well, may God grant them happiness!" he murmured at last, as if to
himself, and turned away his head.

Liza reddened.

"You are wrong, Fedor Ivanovich," she said; "you are wrong in
thinking--But don't you like Vladimir Ivanovich?" she asked suddenly.

"No."

"Why?"

"I think he has no heart."

The smile disappeared from Liza's lips.

"You are accustomed to judge people severely," she said, after a long
silence.

"I don't think so. What right have I to judge others severely, I
should like to know, when I stand in need of indulgence myself? Or
have you forgotten that it is only lazy people who do not mock me? But
tell me," he added, "have you kept your promise?"

"What promise?"

"Have you prayed for me?"

"Yes, I prayed for you; and I pray every day. But please do not talk
lightly about that."

Lavretsky began to assure Liza that he had never dreamt of doing
so--that he profoundly respected all convictions. After that he took
to talking about religion, about its significance in the history of
humanity, of the meaning of Christianity.

"One must be a Christian," said Liza, not without an effort, "not in
order to recognize what is heavenly, or what is earthly, but because
every one must die."

With an involuntary movement of surprise, Lavretsky raised his eyes to
Liza's, and met her glance.

"What does that phrase of yours mean?" he said.

"It is not my phrase," she replied.

"Not yours? But why did y