?"

"Yes."

"Well, yes. Ask her where she has put my book She will know all about
it."

"Very good."

The old lady commenced bustling about again, and began to open the
drawers in her commode. Lavretsky remained quietly sitting on his
chair.

Suddenly light steps were heard on the staircase--and Liza entered.

Lavretsky stood up and bowed. Liza remained near the door.

"Liza, Lizochka," hurriedly began Marfa Timofeevna, "where have
you--where have you put my book?"

"What book, aunt?"

"Why, good gracious! that book. However, I didn't send for you--but
it's all the same. What are you all doing down-stairs? Here is Fedor
Ivanovich come. How is your headache?"

"It's of no consequence."

"You always say, 'It's of no consequence.' What are you all doing down
below?--having music again?"

"No--They are playing cards."

"Of course; she is ready for anything. Shurochka, I see you want to
run out into the garden. Be off!"

"No, I don't Marfa Timofeevna--"

"No arguing, if you please. Be off. Nastasia Carpovna has gone into
the garden by herself. Go and keep her company. You should show the
old lady respect."

Shurochka left the room.

"But where is my cap? Wherever can it have got to?"

"Let me look for it," said Liza.

"Sit still, sit still! My own legs haven't dropped off yet. It
certainly must be in my bed-room."

And Marfa Timofeevna went away, after casting a side-glance at
Lavretsky. At first she left the door open, but suddenly she returned
and shut it again from the outside.

Liza leant back in her chair and silently hid her face in her hands.

Lavretsky remained standing where he was.

"This is how we have had to see each other!" he said at last.

Liza let her hands fall from before her face.

"Yes," she replied sadly, "we have soon been punished."

"Punished!" echoed Lavretsky. "For what have you, at all events, been
punished?"

Liza looked up at him. Her eyes did not express either sorrow or
anxiety; but they seemed to have become smaller and dimmer than they
used to be. Her face was pale; even her slightly-parted lips had lost
their color.

Lavretsky's heart throbbed with pity and with love.

"You have written to me that all is over," he whispered. "Yes, all is
over--before it had begun."

"All that must be forgotten," said Liza. "I am glad you have come. I
was going to write to you; but it is better as it is. Only we must
make the most of these few minutes. Each of us has