Next he learned that a daughter had been born to him.  Two months later he was informed by his steward that Varvara Pavlovna had drawn her first quarter’s allowance.  After that, scandalous reports about her began to arrive; then they became more and more frequent; at last a tragicomic story, in which she played a very unenviable part, ran the round of all the journals, and created a great sensation.  Affairs had come to a climax.  Varvara Pavlovna was now “a celebrity.”

Lavretsky ceased to follow her movements.  But it was long before he could master his own feelings.  Sometimes he was seized by such a longing after his wife, that he fancied he would have been ready to give every thing he had—­that he could, perhaps, even have forgiven her—­if only he might once more have heard her caressing voice, have felt once more her hand in his.  But time did not pass by in vain.  He was not born for suffering.  His healthy nature claimed its rights.  Many things became intelligible for him.  The very blow which had struck him seemed no longer to have come without warning.  He understood his wife now.  We can never fully understand persons with whom we are generally in close contact, until we have been separated from them.  He was able to apply himself to business again, and to study, although now with much less than his former ardor; the scepticism for which both his education and his experience of life had paved the way, had taken lasting hold upon his mind.  He became exceedingly indifferent to every thing.  Four years passed by, and he felt strong enough to return to his home, to meet his own people.  Without having stopped either at St. Petersburg or at Moscow, he arrived at O., where we left him, and whither we now entreat the reader to return with us.

XVII.

About ten o’clock in the morning, on the day after that of which we have already spoken, Lavretsky was going up the steps of the Kalitines’ house, when he met Liza with her bonnet and gloves on.

“Where are you going?” he asked her.

“To church.  To-day is Sunday.”

“And so you go to church?”

Liza looked at him in silent wonder.

“I beg your pardon,” said Lavretsky.  “I—­I did not mean to say that.  I came to take leave of you.  I shall start for my country-house in another hour.”

“That isn’t far from here, is it?” asked Liza.

“About five-and-twenty versts.”

At this moment Lenochka appeared at the door, accompanied by a maid-servant.

“Mind you don’t forget us,” said Liza, and went down the steps.

“Don’t forget me either.  By the way,” he continued, “you are going to church; say a prayer for me too, while you are there.”

Liza stopped and turned towards him.

“Very well,” she said, looking him full in the face.  “I will pray for you, too.  Come, Lenochka.”

Lavretsky found Maria Dmitrievna alone in the drawing-room, which was redolent of Eau de Cologne and peppermint.  Her head ached, she said, and she had spent a restless night.