Ten o’clock struck, and Marfa Timofeevna went up-stairs to her room with Nastasia Carpovna.  Lavretsky and Liza walked about the room, stopped in front of the open door leading into the garden, looked first into the gloaming distance and then at each other—­and smiled.  It seemed as if they would so gladly have taken each other’s hands and talked to their hearts’ content.

They returned to Maria Dmitrievna and Panshine, whose game dragged itself out to an unusual length.  At length the last “king” came to an end, and Madame Kalitine rose from her cushioned chair, sighing, and uttering sounds of weariness the while.  Panshine took his hat, kissed her hand, remarked that nothing prevented more fortunate people from enjoying the night or going to sleep, but that he must sit up till morning over stupid papers, bowed coldly to Liza—­with-whom he was angry, for he had not expected that she would ask him to wait so long for an answer to his proposal—­and retired.  Lavretsky went away directly after him, following him to the gate, where he took leave of him.  Panshine aroused his coachman, poking him in the neck with the end of his stick, seated himself in his droshky, and drove away.  But Lavretsky did not feel inclined to go home, so he walked out of the town into the fields.

The night was still and clear, although there was no moon.  For a long time Lavretsky wandered across the dewy grass.  A narrow footpath lay in his way, and he followed it.  It led him to a long hedge, in which there was a wicket gate.  Without knowing why he did so, he tried to push it open; with a faint creak it did open, just as if it had been awaiting the touch of his hand.  Lavretsky found himself in a garden, took a few steps along a lime-tree alley, and suddenly stopped short in utter amazement.  He saw that he was in the Kalitines’ garden.

A thick hazel bush close at hand flung a black patch of shadow on the ground.  Into this he quickly passed, and there stood for some time without stirring from the spot, inwardly wondering and from time to time shrugging his shoulders.  “This has not happened without some purpose,” he thought.

Around all was still.  From the house not the slightest sound reached him.  He began cautiously to advance.  At the corner of an alley all the house suddenly burst upon him with its dusky facade.  In two windows only on the upper story were lights glimmering.  In Liza’s apartment a candle was burning behind the white blind, and in Marfa Timofeevna’s bed-room glowed the red flame of the small lamp hanging in front of the sacred picture, on the gilded cover of which it was reflected in steady light.  Down below, the door leading on to the balcony gaped wide open.

Lavretsky sat down on a wooden bench, rested his head on his hand, and began looking at that door, and at Liza’s window.  Midnight sounded in the town; in the house a little clock feebly struck twelve.  The watchman beat the hour with quick strokes on his board.  Lavretsky thought of nothing, expected nothing.  It was pleasant to him to feel himself near Liza, to sit in her garden, and on the bench where she also often sat.