And she ran back.

“Lizaveta Nikolaevna, this is such cowardice,” cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, running after her. “And why don’t you want him to see you? On the contrary, you must look him straight in the face, with pride.⁠ ⁠… If it’s some feeling about that⁠ ⁠… some maidenly⁠ ⁠… that’s such a prejudice, so out of date⁠ ⁠… But where are you going? Where are you going? Ech! she is running! Better go back to Stavrogin’s and take my droshky.⁠ ⁠… Where are you going? That’s the way to the fields! There! She’s fallen down!⁠ ⁠…”

He stopped. Liza was flying along like a bird, not conscious where she was going, and Pyotr Stepanovitch was already fifty paces behind her. She stumbled over a mound of earth and fell down. At the same moment there was the sound of a terrible shout from behind. It came from Mavriky Nikolaevitch, who had seen her flight and her fall, and was running to her across the field. In a flash Pyotr Stepanovitch had retired into Stavrogin’s gateway to make haste and get into his droshky.