“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 you speak about death?”

“I don’t know.  I often think about it.”

“Often?”

“Yes.”

“One wouldn’t say so, looking at you now.  Your face seems so happy, so bright, and you smile—­”

“Yes.  I feel very happy now,” replied Liza simply.

Lavretsky felt inclined to seize both her hands and press them warmly.

“Liza, Liza!” cried Madame Kalitine, “come here and see what a carp I have caught.”

“Yes, mamma,” answered Liza, and went to her.

But Lavretsky remained sitting on his willow stem.

“I talk to her just as if I still had an interest in life,” he thought.

Liza had hung up her hat on a bough when she went away.  It was with a strange and almost tender feeling that Lavretsky looked at the hat, and at its long, slightly rumpled ribbons.

Liza soon came back again and took up her former position on the platform.

“Why do you think that Vladimir Nikolaevich has no heart?” she asked, a few minutes afterwards.

“I have already told you that I may be mistaken.  However, time will reveal all.”

Liza became contemplative.  Lavretsky began to talk about his mode of life al Vasilievskoe, about Mikhalevich, about Anton.  He felt compelled to talk to Liza, to communicate to her all that went on in his heart.  And she listened to him so attentively, with such kindly interest; the few remarks and answers she made appeared to him so sensible and so natural.  He even told her so.

Liza was astonished.  “Really?” she said.  “As for me, I thought I was like my maid, Nastasia, and had no words ‘of my own.’  She said one day to her betrothed, ’You will be sure to be bored with me.  You talk to me so beautifully about every thing, but I have no words of my own.’”

“Heaven be praised!” thought Lavretsky.

XXVI.