“Don’t be afraid; tell me,” he replied, and stood still before her.

Lisa raised her clear eyes to him.

“You are so good,” she began, and at the same time, she thought:  “Yes, I am sure he is good” . . . “you will forgive me, I ought not dare to speak of it to you . . . but—­how could you . . . why did you separate from your wife?”

Lavretsky shuddered:  he looked at Lisa, and sat down near her.

“My child,” he began, “I beg you, do not touch upon that wound; your hands are tender, but it will hurt me all the same.”

“I know,” Lisa went on, as though she did not hear him, “she has been to blame towards you.  I don’t want to defend her; but what God has joined, how can you put asunder?”

“Our convictions on that subject are too different, Lisaveta Mihalovna,” Lavretsky observed, rather sharply; “we cannot understand one another.”

Lisa grew paler:  her whole frame was trembling slightly; but she was not silenced.

“You must forgive,” she murmured softly, “if you wish to be forgiven.”

“Forgive!” broke in Lavretsky.  “Ought you not first to know whom you are interceding for?  Forgive that woman, take her back into my home, that empty, heartless creature!  And who told you she wants to return to me?  She is perfectly contented with her position, I can assure you . . .  But what a subject to discuss here!  Her name ought never to be uttered by you.  You are too pure, you are not capable of understanding such a creature.

“Why abuse her?” Lisa articulated with an effort.  The trembling of her hands was perceptible now.  “You left her yourself, Fedor Ivanitch.”

“But I tell you,” retorted Lavretsky with an involuntary outburst of impatience, “you don’t know what that woman is!”

“Then why did you marry her?” whispered Lisa, and her eyes feel.

Lavretsky got up quickly from his seat.

“Why did I marry her?  I was young and inexperienced; I was deceived, I was carried away by a beautiful exterior.  I knew no women.  I knew nothing.  God grant you may make a happier marriage! but let me tell you, you can be sure of nothing.”

“I too might be unhappy,” said Lisa (her voice had begun to be unsteady), “but then I ought to submit, I don’t know how to say it; but if we do not submit”—­

Lavretsky clenched his hands and stamped with his foot.

“Don’t be angry, forgive me,” Lisa faltered hurriedly.

At that instant Marya Dmitrievna came in.  Lisa got up and was going away.

“Stop a minute,” Lavretsky cried after her unexpectedly.  “I have a great favour to beg of your mother and you; to pay me a visit in my new abode.  You know, I have had a piano sent over; Lemm is staying with me; the lilac is in flower now; you will get a breath of country air, and you can return the same day—­will you consent?” Lisa looked towards her mother; Marya Dmitrievna was