He went to the Kalitines’ every day; but even there he was not more at his ease.  The mistress of the house was evidently out of humor with him, and treated him with cold condescension.  Panshine showed him exaggerated politeness; Lemm had become misanthropical, and scarcely even returned his greeting; and, worst of all, Liza seemed to avoid him.  Whenever she happened to be left alone with him, she manifested symptoms of embarrassment, instead of the frank manner of former days.  On such occasions she did not know what to say to him; and even he felt confused.  In the course of a few days Liza had become changed from what he remembered her to have been.  In her movements, in her voice, even in her laugh itself, a secret uneasiness manifested itself—­something different from her former evenness of temper.  Her mother, like a true egotist, did not suspect anything; but Marfa Timofeevna began to watch her favorite closely.

Lavretsky often blamed himself for having shown Liza the newspaper he had received; he could not help being conscious that there was something in his state of feeling which must be repugnant to a very delicate mind.  He supposed, moreover, that the change which had taken place in Liza arose from a struggle with herself, from her doubt as to what answer she should give to Panshine.

One day she returned him a book—­one of Walter Scott’s novels—­which she had herself asked him for.

“Have you read it?” he asked.

“No; I am not in a mood for books just now,” she answered, and then was going away.

“Wait a minute,” he said.  “It is so long since I got a talk with you alone.  You seem afraid of me.  Is it so?”

“Yes.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know.”

Lavretsky said nothing for a time.

“Tell me,” he began again presently; “haven’t you made up your mind yet?”

“What do you mean?” she replied, without lifting her eyes from the ground.

“Surely you understand me?”

Liza suddenly reddened.

“Don’t ask me about anything!” she exclaimed with animation.  “I know nothing.  I don’t know myself.”

And she went hastily away.

The next day Lavretsky arrived at the Kalitines’ after dinner, and found all the preparations going on there for an evening service.  In a corner of the dining-room, a number of small icons[A] in golden frames, with tarnished little diamonds in the aureolas, were already placed against the wall on a square table, which was covered with a table-cloth of unspotted whiteness.  An old servant, dressed in a grey coat and wearing shoes, traversed the whole room deliberately and noiselessly, placed two slender candle-sticks with wax tapers in them before the icons, crossed himself, bowed, and silently left the room.

[Footnote A:  Sacred Pictures.]

The drawing-room was dark and empty.  Lavretsky went into the dining-room, and asked if it was any one’s name-day.[A] He was told in a whisper that it was not, but that a service was to be performed in accordance with the request of Lizaveta Mikhailovna and Marfa Timofeevna.  The miracle-working picture was to have been brought, but it had gone to a sick person thirty versts off.