It was long since she had heard the piano, and she was so fond of it.  They had not a single musical instrument in their villa.  Groholsky and she were musicians only in soul, no more.  There were a great many boxes and packages with the words:  “with care” upon them carried in after the piano.

They were boxes of looking-glasses and crockery.  A gorgeous and luxurious carriage was dragged in, at the gate, and two white horses were led in looking like swans.

“My goodness, what riches!” thought Liza, remembering her old pony which Groholsky, who did not care for riding, had bought her for a hundred roubles.  Compared with those swan-like steeds, her pony seemed to her no better than a bug.  Groholsky, who was afraid of riding fast, had purposely bought Liza a poor horse.

“What wealth!” Liza thought and murmured as she gazed at the noisy carriers.

The sun hid behind the tumuli, the air began to lose its dryness and limpidity, and still the furniture was being driven up and hauled into the house.  At last it was so dark that Groholsky left off reading the newspaper while Liza still gazed and gazed.

“Shouldn’t we light the lamp?” said Groholsky, afraid that a fly might drop into his milk and be swallowed in the darkness.

“Liza! shouldn’t we light the lamp?  Shall we sit in darkness, my angel?”

Liza did not answer.  She was interested in a chaise which had driven up to the villa opposite. . . .  What a charming little mare was in that chaise.  Of medium size, not large, but graceful. . . .  A gentleman in a top hat was sitting in the chaise, a child about three, apparently a boy, was sitting on his knees waving his little hands. . . .  He was waving his little hands and shouting with delight.

Liza suddenly uttered a shriek, rose from her seat and lurched forward.

“What is the matter?” asked Groholsky.

“Nothing. . .  I only . . .  I fancied. . . .”

The tall, broad-shouldered gentleman in the top hat jumped out of the chaise, lifted the boy down, and with a skip and a hop ran gaily in at the glass door.  The door opened noisily and he vanished into the darkness of the villa apartments.

Two smart footmen ran up to the horse in the chaise, and most respectfully led it to the gate.  Soon the villa opposite was lighted up, and the clatter of plates, knives, and forks was audible.  The gentleman in the top hat was having his supper, and judging by the duration of the clatter of crockery, his supper lasted long.  Liza fancied she could smell chicken soup and roast duck.  After supper discordant sounds of the piano floated across from the villa.  In all probability the gentleman in the top hat was trying to amuse the child in some way, and allowing it to strum on it.

Groholsky went up to Liza and put his arm round her waist.

“What wonderful weather!” he said.  “What air!  Do you feel it?  I am very happy, Liza, very happy indeed.  My happiness is so great that I am really afraid of its destruction.  The greatest things are usually destroyed, and do you know, Liza, in spite of all my happiness, I am not absolutely . . . at peace. . . .  One haunting thought torments me . . . it torments me horribly.  It gives me no peace by day or by night. . . .”