Part 17 (2/2)
”I forgave her long ago,” interrupted Lavretsky, with an impatient gesture.
”No, I don't mean that,” answered Liza, reddening; ”you have not understood me properly. It is you who ought to strive to get pardoned.”
”Who is there to pardon me?”
”Who? Why G.o.d. Who can pardon us except G.o.d?”
Lavretsky grasped her hand.
”Ah! Lizaveta Mikhailovna!” he exclaimed, ”believe me, I have already been punished enough--I have already expiated all, believe me.”
”You cannot tell that,” said Liza, in a low voice. ”You forget. It was not long ago that you and I were talking, and you were not willing to forgive her.”
Both of them walked along the alley for a time in silence.
”And about your daughter?” suddenly asked Liza, and then stopped short.
Lavretsky shuddered.
”Oh! don't disturb yourself about her. I have already sent off letters in all directions. The future of my daughter, as you--as you say--is a.s.sured. You need not trouble yourself on that score.”
Liza smiled sadly.
”But you are right,” continued Lavretsky. ”What am I to do with my freedom--what use is it to me?”
”When did you get this paper?” asked Liza, without answering his question.
”The day after your visit.”
”And have not you--have not you even shed a tear?”
”No; I was thunderstruck. But whither should I look for tears? Should I cry over the past? Why, all mine has been, as it were, consumed with fire. Her fault did not actually destroy my happiness; it only proved to me that for me happiness had never really existed. What, then, had I to cry for? Besides--who knows?--perhaps I should have been more grieved if I had received this news a fortnight sooner.”
”A fortnight!” replied Liza. ”But what can have happened to make such a difference in that fortnight?”
Lavretsky make no reply at first, and Liza suddenly grew still redder than before.
”Yes, yes! you have guessed it!” unexpectedly cried Lavretsky. ”In the course of that fortnight I have learnt what a woman's heart is like when it is pure and clear; and my past life seems even farther off from me than it used to be.”
Liza became a little uncomfortable, and slowly turned to where Lenochka and Shurochka were in the flower-garden.
”But I am glad I showed you that newspaper,” said Lavretsky, as he followed her. ”I have grown accustomed to conceal nothing from you, and I hope you will confide in me equally in return.”
”Do you really?” said Liza, stopping still. ”In that case, I ought.
But, no! it is impossible.”
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