“Oh, no, Marfa Timofyevna.”

“Don’t argue, if you please, run along.  Nastasya Karpovna has gone out into the garden all by herself; you keep her company.  You must treat the old with respect.”—­Shurotchka departed—­“But where is my cap?  Where has it got to?”

“Let me look for it,” said Lisa.

“Sit down, sit down; I have still the use of my legs.  It must be inside in my bedroom.”

And flinging a sidelong glance in Lavretsky’s direction, Marfa Timofyevna went out.  She left the door open; but suddenly she came back to it and shut it.

Lisa leant back against her chair and quietly covered her face with her hands; Lavretsky remained where he was.

“This is how we were to meet again!” he brought out at last.

Lisa took her hands from her face.

“Yes,” she said faintly:  “we were quickly punished.”

“Punished,” said Lavretsky . . . .  “What had you done to be punished?”

Lisa raised her eyes to him.  There was neither sorrow or disquiet expressed in them; they seemed smaller and dimmer.  Her face was pale; and pale too her slightly parted lips.

Lavretsky’s heart shuddered for pity and love.

“You wrote to me; all is over,” he whispered, “yes, all is over—­before it had begun.”

“We must forget all that,” Lisa brought out; “I am glad that you have come; I wanted to write to you, but it is better so.  Only we must take advantage quickly of these minutes.  It is left for both of us to do our duty.  You, Fedor Ivanitch, must be reconciled with your wife.”

“Lisa!”

“I beg you to do so; by that alone can we expiate . . . all that has happened.  You will think about it—­and will not refuse me.”

“Lisa, for God’s sake,—­you are asking what is impossible.  I am ready to do everything you tell me; but to be reconciled to her now! . . .  I consent to everything, I have forgotten everything; but I cannot force my heart . . . .  Indeed, this is cruel!

“I do not even ask of you . . . what you say; do not live with her, if you cannot; but be reconciled,” replied Lisa and again she hid her eyes in her hand .—­“remember your little girl; do it for my sake.”

“Very well,” Lavretsky muttered between his teeth:  “I will do that, I suppose in that I shall fulfill my duty.  But you-what does your duty consist in?”

“That I know myself.”

Lavretsky started suddenly.

“You cannot be making up your mind to marry Panshin?” he said.

Lisa gave an almost imperceptible smile.

“Oh, no!” she said.

“Ah, Lisa, Lisa!” cried Lavretsky, “how happy you might have been!”

Lisa looked at him again.

“Now you see yourself, Fedor Ivanitch, that happiness does not depend on us, but on God.”

“Yes, because you—­”

The door from the adjoining room opened quickly and Marfa Timofyevna came in with her cap in her hand.