" Why did you shake your head ? "
" Oh, I'm sorry that book has fallen into your hands."
" Who are you sorry for—the book or me ? "
Alexandr did not answer.
" Why should I not read Byron ? " she asked.
" For two reasons," said Alexandr, after a short pause.
He laid his hand on hers, to emphasise his words perhaps, or perhaps because her little hand was very white and soft, and he began to speak in soft and measured tones, fixing his eyes first on Liza's curls, then on her neck, then on her waist As he progressed through these stages his voice gradually rose.
" In the first place," he said, " because you are reading Byron in French and consequently the beauty and force of the poet's language is lost for you. Only see how pale and colourless and poor the language is in this! This is the mere ashes of a great poet; his ideas seemed to have been melted into a solution. In the second place, I should not have advised you to read Byron at all, because he will perhaps stir chords in your heart which might else have been for ever silent"
Here he squeezed her hand warmly and expressively, as though he wished to add weight to his words.
" Why should you read Byron ? " he went on ; " it may be that your life is flowing as smoothly as this stream; you see how small, how tiny it is; it does not reflect the whole sky nor clouds on its surface; there are no rocks or steep places on its banks, it trickles playfully; scarcely does the slightest ripple stir its surface; it reflects only the green of its banks, patches of sky and tiny cloudlets. So no doubt your life might run its course, but you are bringing on yourself storms and agitations for no object; you want to look at life and man through a gloomy medium. Give it up, don't read it! look on everything with a smiling face, don't gaze into the distance, live day by day, don't dwell on the dark sides of life and men, or else "
" Else what ? "
" Nothing!" said Alexandr, as though recollecting himself.
" No, tell me; you have no doubt had an experience of some kind ? "
" Where is my rod ? Exquse me, it's time I took it."
He seemed disturbed at having spoken out so unguardedly.
" No, one word more," said Liza, " of course a poet must arouse one's interest. Byron was a great poet; why don't you want me to be interested in him? Am I so stupid, so frivolous that I can't understand ? "
She was wounded.
" Not that at alclass="underline" take an interest in what is fitting for your womanly heart; seek what is in harmony with it, or perhaps there may be a fearful discordance between head and heart." At this point he shook his head to suggest that he himself was a victim of this discordance.
" One will show you," he said, " the flower and teach you to enjoy its beauty and its sweet perfume, but another will only present to you the poisonous sap in its calyx, then beauty and fragrance too will be all over for you ? He will make you grieve that the sap is there and you will forget that there is fragrance there too. There is a difference between these two kinds of men and between one's interest in them. Don't seek the poison, don't try to trace to its origin everything that happens to us and about us ; don't seek needless experience; it is not that that leads to happiness."
She paused. She was listening to him with dreamy attention.
"Speak, speak," she said with childlike submissiveness. 11 1 am ready to listen to you for whole days, to obey you in everything."
" Me ?" said Alexandr coldly, " excuse me, what right have I to dictate to your wishes ? I beg your pardon for having allowed myself to make a remark on them. Read what you like—Childe Harold is a very fine work. Byron is a great poet!"
" No, don't dissemble 1 don't speak so. Tell me, what am I to read ? "
With pedantic solemnity he began to propose to her several historical works and travels, but she said she had been bored by those already at school. Then he selected for her Walter Scott, Cowper, a few French and English authors and authoresses, and two or three Russian writers, trying as he did so to show incidentally his literary taste and judgment. There was no similar conversation between them after this one.
Alexandr still meant to make his escape.
"What are women to me?" he said; " I cannot love; I have done with them."
" All right, all right," KostyakofFobserved to this. "You will get married, you will see. I myself at one time only
wanted to amuse myself with the girls and women, but when the time had corneal was driven on and shoved somehow into matrimony."
And Alexandr did not make his escape. All his old dreams had begun to stir within him. His heart began to beat faster. Liza's shape, her ankle, her curls hovered before his eyes, and life began to grow a little brighter again. For three days now Kostyakoff had not called for him, but he had himself fetched Kostyakoff to go fishing. " Again ! again as of old!" said Alexandr, " but I am firm !" and meanwhile he was hurriedly making his way to the stream.
Every time Liza was awaiting the arrival of her friends with impatience. Every evening she prepared a cup of fragrant tea with rum for Kostyakoff—and perhaps it was partly to this device that Liza was indebted for their not missing a single evening. If they were late, Liza went with her father to meet them. If bad weather kept them at home, next day there was no end to the reproaches heaped on them and on the weather.
Alexandr deliberated and deliberated and decided— Heaven only knows—he did not know himself—with what object, to cut short his walks in time, and he did not go to fish for a whole week. Kostyakoff too did not go. At last they went.
While still a mile from the place where they used to fish, they met Liza with her old nurse. She uttered a cry when she saw them, then suddenly smiled and blushed. Adouev bowed stiffly, Kostyakoff began to chatter away.
" Here we are," he said, " you didn't expect us ? he! he! he ! I see you didn't expect us and no samovar ! It's ages, miss, ages since we've seen each other. Have the fish been biting ? I tried to come all the time, but I could not persuade Alexandr Fedoritch ; he kept sitting indoors—no, I should say lying indoors."
She looked reproachfully at Adouev.
" What does it mean ? " she asked.
"What?"
" You have not been for a whole week ? "
" Yes, I believe I haven't been for a whole week ? "
" Why ? "
" Oh, I didn't feel inclined."
" Not feel inclined !" she said, surprised.
" Yes, what of it ? "
She did not speak, but seemed to be thinking; " then is it possible you did not feel inclined to come here ? "
"I wanted to send papa into town to you," she said, " only I did not know where you live:"
" Into town ? to me ? what for ? "
" That's a nice question ! " she said in an offended tone. " What for ? To see whether anything had happened to you, whether you were well ? "
" But what is it to you ? "
" What is it to me ? Good Heavens!"
" Why good Heavens ? "
"Why! why you know, I have some books of yours.'' She grew confused. " Not been for a week! " she added.
" Am I absolutely bound to be here every day ? "
" Absolutely!"
" Why ? "
" Why, why !" She looked mournfully at him and repeated " why, why ! "
He looked at her. What was it? tears, agitation, and delight and reproaches ? She had grown pale and a little thinner, her eyes were brilliant
" So that's what it is ! already ! " thought Alexandr, " I had not expected it so soon !" Then he laughed aloud.
" Why do you ask ? Listen," she continued, the flash of some resolution in her eyes. She had apparently braced herself to say something important, but at that instant her father came up to him.
" To-morrow," she said, " to-morrow I must have some
words with you; to-day I cannot; my heart is too full