“ Lise ,” cried Stepan Trofimovitch, rushing to her almost in delirium too. “ Chère, chère.⁠ ⁠… Can you be out, too⁠ ⁠… in such a fog? You see the glow of fire. Vous êtes malheureuse, n’est-ce pas? I see, I see. Don’t tell me, but don’t question me either. Nous sommes tous malheureux mais il faut les pardonner tous. Pardonnons, Lise , and let us be free forever. To be quit of the world and be completely free. Il faut pardonner, pardonner, et pardonner! ”

“But why are you kneeling down?”