“And how is it you’re… it’s really just the two of you here?”

“Quite alone, sir; only a maid comes once a day to straighten up.”

“And when you go out, she stays alone like that?”

“And what else, sir? And yesterday as I went out I even locked her in that little room, it’s because of that that we’re having tears today. But what was there to do, judge for yourself: two days ago she went downstairs without me, and a boy threw a stone at her head. Or else she’ll burst into tears and rush around to everyone in the yard asking where I went, and that’s not good, sir. And I’m a fine one, too: I leave her for an hour, and come back the next morning—that’s how it turned out yesterday. It’s a good thing the landlady let her out while I was gone, she called a locksmith to open the lock—it’s even a disgrace, sir—I feel myself a veritable monster, sir. It’s all from darkening…”

“Papa!” the girl said timidly and anxiously.

“What, again! you’re at it again! what did I just tell you?”

“I won’t, I won’t,” Liza repeated in fear, hurriedly clasping her hands before him.

“It can’t go on with you like this, in such circumstances,” Velchaninov suddenly spoke impatiently, with the voice of one in authority. “You… you are a man of means; how can you live like that—first of all, in this wing, and in such circumstances?”

“In this wing, sir? But we may leave in a week, and we’ve spent a lot of money as it is, means or no means, sir…”

“Well, enough, enough,” Velchaninov interrupted him with ever-increasing impatience, as if clearly saying: “No point in talking, I know everything you’re going to say, and I know with what intention you’re saying it!”

“Listen, I’ll make you an offer: you just said you’d stay for perhaps a week, maybe two. I have a house here—that is, a certain family—where I’m as if in my own home, for twenty years now. The family of one Pogoreltsev. Pogoreltsev, Alexei Pavlovich, a privy councillor; he might even be helpful to you in your case. They are at their country house now. They have their own quite splendid country house. Klavdia Petrovna Pogoreltsev is like a sister to me, like a mother. They have eight children. Let me take Liza there right now… so as not to lose any time. They’ll receive her gladly, for the whole time, they’ll be good to her, like their own daughter, their own daughter!”

He was terribly impatient and did not conceal it.

“That’s somehow impossible, sir,” Pavel Pavlovich said with a little grimace and, as it seemed to Velchaninov, peeking slyly into his eyes.

“Why? Why impossible?”

“But how, sir, let the child go like that, and suddenly, sir—even supposing it’s with such a sincere well-wisher as yourself, I don’t mean that, sir, but all the same to a strange house, and of such high society, sir, where I still don’t know how she’ll be received.”

“But I told you I’m like one of them,” Velchaninov cried out almost in wrath. “Klavdia Petrovna will consider it a happiness just at one word from me. Like my daughter… but, devil take it, you know yourself you’re just babbling… what’s there to talk about!”

He even stamped his foot.

“I mean, won’t it be very strange, sir? After all, I, too, would have to go and see her once or twice, she can’t be entirely without a father, sir? heh, heh… and in such an important house, sir.”

“But it’s the simplest house, not at all an ‘important’ one!” Velchaninov shouted. “I’m telling you, there are lots of children there. She’ll resurrect there, that’s the whole purpose… And I’ll introduce you there tomorrow if you like. And you certainly will have to go and thank them; we’ll go every day if you wish…”

“Still, sir, it’s somehow…”

“Nonsense! Above all, you know it yourself! Listen, why don’t you come to me this evening and spend the night, perhaps, and early in the morning we’ll go, so as to be there by noon.”

“My benefactor! Even to spend the night with you…” Pavel Pavlovich suddenly consented with tender emotion, “a veritable benefactor… and where is their country house?”

“Their country house is in Lesnoye.”

“Only what about her clothes, sir! Because to go to such a noble house, and in the country besides, you know… A father’s heart, sir!”

“What’s wrong with her clothes? She’s in mourning. How can she have any other clothes? This is the most appropriate thing imaginable! Only maybe her linen could be cleaner, and the kerchief…” (The kerchief and what could be seen of her linen were indeed very dirty.)

“Right away, she absolutely must change,” Pavel Pavlovich started bustling, “and the rest of the necessary linen we’ll also collect right away; Marya Sysoevna took it for laundering, sir.”

“Send for a carriage, then,” Velchaninov interrupted, “and quickly, if possible.”

But an obstacle arose: Liza was decidedly against it, she had been listening all the while in fear, and if, as he talked with Pavel Pavlovich, Velchaninov had managed to observe her well, he would have seen total despair on her little face.

“I won’t go,” she said firmly and softly.

“There, you see, just like her mama!”

“I’m not like Mama, I’m not like Mama!” Liza cried, wringing her little hands in despair, and as if justifying herself before her father’s terrible reproach of being like her mama. “Papa, Papa, if you abandon me…”

She suddenly fell upon the frightened Velchaninov.

“If you take me, I’ll…”

But she had no time to say anything more; Pavel Pavlovich grabbed her by the arm, almost by the scruff of the neck, and now with unconcealed animosity dragged her to the little room. There again followed several minutes of whispering; stifled weeping could be heard. Velchaninov was about to go in himself, when Pavel Pavlovich came out to him and with a twisted smile announced that she would presently come out, sir. Velchaninov tried not to look at him and averted his eyes.

Marya Sysoevna also came, the same woman he had met earlier on entering the corridor, and started packing into Liza’s pretty little bag the linen she had brought for her.

“So, dearie, you’re going to take the girl?” she addressed Velchaninov. “You’ve got a family or something? It’ll be a good thing to do, dearie: she’s a quiet child, you’ll deliver her from this Sodom.”⁵

“Now, now, Marya Sysoevna,” Pavel Pavlovich began to mutter.

“What, Marya Sysoevna! Everybody knows my name. And isn’t it a Sodom here? Is it fitting for a child who understands to look at such shame? They’ve brought a carriage for you, dearie—to Lesnoye, is it?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Well, good luck to you!”

Liza came out with a pale little face, her eyes downcast, and took her bag. Not one glance in Velchaninov’s direction; she restrained herself and did not rush, as earlier, to embrace her father, even when saying good-bye; evidently she did not even want to look at him. Her father decorously kissed her on the head and patted it; at that her lips twisted and her chin trembled, but even so she did not raise her eyes to her father. Pavel Pavlovich looked somewhat pale, and his hands trembled—this Velchaninov noticed clearly, though he tried as hard as he could not to look at him. He wanted one thing: to leave quickly. “And, anyway, what fault is it of mine?” he thought. “It had to be this way.” They went downstairs, there Marya Sysoevna kissed Liza, and only when she was already settled in the carriage did Liza raise her eyes to her father—and suddenly clasp her hands and cry out: another moment and she would have rushed to him from the carriage, but the horses had already started off.

VI

THE NEW FANTASY OF AN IDLE MAN

“You’re not feeling bad?” Velchaninov was frightened. “I’ll order them to stop, to fetch water…”

She looked up at him with a burning, reproachful glance. “Where are you taking me?” she said sharply and curtly.