“Ah!  Liza, Liza!” exclaimed Lavretsky, “how happy we might have been!”

Liza again looked up at him.

“Now even you must see, Fedor Ivanovich, that happiness does not depend upon ourselves, but upon God.”

“Yes, because you—­”

The door of the next room suddenly opened, and Marfa Timofeevna came in, holding her cap in her hand.

“I had trouble enough to find it,” she said, standing between Liza and Lavretsky; “I had stuffed it away myself.  Dear me, see what old age comes to!  But, after all, youth is no better.  Well, are you going to Lavriki with your wife?” she added, turning to Fedor Ivanovich.

“To Lavriki with her?  I?—­I don’t know,” he added, after a short pause.

“Won’t you pay a visit down stairs?”

“Not to-day.”

“Well, very good; do as you please.  But you, Liza, ought to go down-stairs, I think.  Ah! my dears.  I’ve forgotten to give any seed to my bullfinch too.  Wait a minute; I will be back directly.”

And Marfa Timofeevna ran out of the room without even having put on her cap.

Lavretsky quickly drew near to Liza.

“Liza,” he began, with an imploring voice, “we are about to part for ever, and my heart is very heavy.  Give me your hand at parting.”

Liza raised her head.  Her wearied, almost lustre less eyes looked at him steadily.

“No,” she said, and drew back the hand she had half held out to him.  “No, Lavretsky” (it was the first time that she called him by this name), “I will not give you my hand.  Why should I?  And now leave me, I beseech you.  You know that I love you—­Yes, I love you!” she added emphatically.  “But no—­no;” and she raised her handkerchief to her lips.

“At least, then, give me that handkerchief—­”

The door creaked.  The handkerchief glided down to Liza’s knees.  Lavretsky seized it before it had time to fall on the floor, and quickly hid it away in his pocket; then, as he turned round, he encountered the glance of Marfa Timofeevna’s eyes.

“Lizochka, I think your mother is calling you,” said the old lady.

Liza immediately got up from her chair, and left the room.

Marfa Timofeevna sat down again in her corner, Lavretsky was going to take leave of her.

“Fedia,” she said, abruptly.

“What, Aunt?”

“Are you an honorable man?”

“What?”

“I ask you—­Are you an honorable man?”

“I hope so.”

“Hm!  Well, then, give me your word that you are going to behave like an honorable man.”

“Certainly.  But why do you ask that?”