Lemm uttered the whole of this speech fluently, and with animation, walking backwards and forwards with short steps in front of the tea-table, his eyes running along the ground meanwhile.

“Dearest Maestro!” suddenly exclaimed Lavretsky, “I think you are in love with my cousin yourself.”

Lemm suddenly stopped short.

“Please do not jest with me in that way,” he began, with faltering voice.  “I am not out of my mind.  I look forward to the dark grave, and not to a rosy future.”

Lavretsky felt sorry for the old man, and begged his pardon.  After breakfast Lemm played his cantata, and after dinner, at Lavretsky’s own instigation, he again began to talk about Liza.  Lavretsky listened to him attentively and with curiosity.

“What do you say to this, Christopher Fedorovitch?” he said at last.  “Every thing seems in order here now, and the garden is in full bloom.  Why shouldn’t I invite her to come here for the day, with her mother and my old aunt—­eh?  Will that be agreeable to you?”

Lemm bowed his head over his plate.

“Invite her,” he said, in a scarcely audible voice.

“But we needn’t ask Panshine.”

“No, we needn’t,” answered the old man, with an almost childlike smile.

Two days later Lavretsky went into town and to the Kalatines’.

XXIV.

He found them all at home, but he did not tell them of his plan immediately.  He wanted to speak to Liza alone first.  Chance favored him, and he was left alone with her in the drawing-room.  They began to talk.  As a general rule she was never shy with any one, and by this time she had succeeded in becoming accustomed to him.  He listened to what she said, and as he looked at her face, he musingly repeated Lemm’s words, and agreed with him.  It sometimes happens that two persons who are already acquainted with each other, but not intimately, after the lapse of a few minutes suddenly become familiar friends—­and the consciousness of this familiarity immediately expresses itself in their looks, in their gentle and kindly smiles, in their gestures themselves.  And this happened now with Lavretsky and Liza.  “Ah, so that’s what’s you’re like!” thought she, looking at him with friendly eyes.  “Ah, so that’s what’s you’re like!” thought he also; and therefore he was not much surprised when she informed him, not without some little hesitation, that she had long wanted to say something to him, but that she was afraid of vexing him.

“Don’t be afraid, speak out,” he said, standing still in front of her.

Liza raised her clear eyes to his.

“You are so good,” she began—­and at the same time she thought, “yes, he is really good”—­“I hope you will forgive me.  I scarcely ought to have ventured to speak to you about it—­but how could you—­why did you separate from your wife?”

Lavretsky shuddered, then looked at Liza, and sat down by her side.