“Ivan Petrovitch,” said Groholsky in the tone of a dying man, “I have seen and heard it all⁠ ⁠… It’s not honourable on your part, but I do not blame you.⁠ ⁠… You love her too, but you must understand that she is mine. Mine! I cannot live without her! How is it you don’t understand that? Granted that you love her, that you are miserable.⁠ ⁠… Have I not paid you, in part at least, for your sufferings? For God’s sake, go away! For God’s sake, go away! Go away from here forever, I implore you, or you will kill me.⁠ ⁠…”

“I have nowhere to go,” Bugrov said thickly.

“H’m, you have squandered everything.⁠ ⁠… You are an impulsive man. Very well.⁠ ⁠… Go to my estate in the province of Tchernigov. If you like I will make you a present of the property. It’s a small estate, but a good one.⁠ ⁠… On my honour, it’s a good one!”

Bugrov gave a broad grin. He suddenly felt himself in the seventh heaven.

“I will give it you.⁠ ⁠… This very day I will write to my steward and send him an authorisation for completing the purchase. You must tell everyone you have bought it.⁠ ⁠… Go away, I entreat you.”

“Very good, I will go. I understand.”

“Let us go to a notary⁠ ⁠… at once,” said Groholsky, greatly cheered, and he went to order the carriage.

On the following evening, when Liza was sitting on the garden seat where her rendezvous with Ivan Petrovitch usually took place, Groholsky went quietly to her. He sat down beside her, and took her hand.

“Are you dull, Lizotchka?” he said, after a brief silence. “Are you depressed? Why shouldn’t we go away somewhere? Why is it we always stay at home? We want to go about, to enjoy ourselves, to make acquaintances.⁠ ⁠… Don’t we?”

“I want nothing,” said Liza, and turned her pale, thin face towards the path by which Bugrov used to come to her.