I waxed pathetic, so much so that I myself was about to have a spasm in my throat, when… suddenly I stopped, raised myself in alarm, and, inclining my head fearfully, with pounding heart, began to listen. I indeed had reason to be troubled.
For a long time already I'd sensed that I had turned her whole soul over and broken her heart and the more convinced of it I was, the more I wished to reach my goal quickly and as forcefully as possible. It was the game, the game that fascinated me; not just the game, however…
I knew I'd been speaking stiffly, affectedly, even bookishly; in short, I couldn't speak any other way than "as if from a book." But that didn't trouble me; I knew, I sensed that I'd be understood, and that this very bookishness might even help things along. But now, having achieved my effect, I suddenly turned coward. No, never, never before had I witnessed such despair! She was lying prone, her face buried deep in her pillow, which she embraced with both arms. Her breast was bursting. Her whole young body was shuddering as in convulsions. Suppressed sobs were straining, tearing her breast, and would suddenly burst out in wails and cries. Then she'd cling to her pillow even more: she did not want anyone there, not a living soul, to learn of her torment and tears. She bit the pillow, she bit into her hand till it bled (I saw it later), or, clutching her loosened braids, she would go stiff with effort, holding her breath and clenching her teeth. I started to say something to her, to beg her to calm down, but felt I didn't dare, and suddenly, all in a sort of fever myself, almost horrified, I rushed gropingly, in haphazard haste, to get myself ready to go. It was dark: no matter how I tried, I couldn't finish quickly. Suddenly I touched a box of matches and a candlestick with a whole, unused candle. As soon as light shone in the room, Liza suddenly rose, sat up, and looked at me almost senselessly, with a somehow distorted face and a half-crazed smile. I sat down next to her and took her hands; she recovered herself, made a quick move as if to embrace me, but did not dare, and quietly bowed her head before me.
"Liza, my friend, I shouldn't have… forgive me," I tried to begin, but she squeezed my hands in her fingers with such force that I realized I was saying the wrong thing and stopped.
"Here's my address, Liza, come to me."
"I will…" she whispered resolutely, still without raising her head.
"And now I'll go, good-bye… till then."
I got up, she got up as well, and suddenly blushed all over, gave a start, grabbed a shawl that was lying on a chair, and wrapped her shoulders in it all the way to the chin. Having done so, she again smiled somehow painfully, blushed, and glanced at me strangely. I felt pained; I was in a hurry to leave, to efface myself.
"Wait," she said suddenly, already in the entryway and right at the door, stopping me with a hand on my overcoat, and in a flurry she set down the candle and ran off - she must have remembered something or wanted to bring something to show me. As she ran off, she blushed all over, her eyes shone, a smile appeared on her lips - what could it mean? Like it or nor, I had to wait; she came back in a minute, her eyes as if apologizing for something. Generally, this was no longer the same face, the same look as before - sullen, mistrustful, and obstinate. Now her eyes were soft, pleading, and at the same time trustful, tender, timid. Children look that way at someone they love very much, when they're asking for something. She had light brown eyes, beautiful eyes, alive, capable of reflecting both love and sullen hatred.
Without explaining anything - as if, like some higher being, I must know everything without explanations - she handed me a piece of paper. Her whole face simply lit up at that moment with the most naive, childlike triumph. I unfolded it. It was a letter to her from some medical student or the like - a very grandiloquent, flowery, but extremely respectful declaration of love. I don't remember the expressions now, but I remember very well that through the high-flown style one caught glimpses of true feeling, which cannot be feigned. When I finished reading, I met her ardent, curious, and childishly impatient gaze on me. Her eyes were riveted to my face, and she waited impatiently - what would I say? In a few words, haphazardly, but somehow joyfully and as if proudly, she explained to me that she had been at a dancing party somewhere, in a family home, the home of some "very, very nice people, family people, and where they still know nothing, nothing at all," because she's still quite new here and just… and hasn't at all decided to stay yet, and will certainly leave as soon as she's paid her debt… "Well, and there was this student, dancing and talking with her all evening, and it turned out he had known her still in Riga, still as a child, they had played together, only very long ago - and he knew her parents, but he knows nothing, nothing, nothing about this and doesn't even suspect! And so, the next day after the dance (three days ago), he sent her this letter through a girlfriend with whom she'd gone to the party… and… well, that's all."