Groholsky pondered. He knew who it was she expected, who it was she wanted.

“Let us go home, Liza,” he said, “it is damp here.⁠ ⁠…”

“You go; I’ll come directly.”

Groholsky pondered again.

“You are expecting him?” he asked, and made a wry face as though his heart had been gripped with red-hot pincers.

“Yes.⁠ ⁠… I want to give him the socks for Misha.⁠ ⁠…”

“He will not come.”

“How do you know?”

“He has gone away.⁠ ⁠…”

Liza opened her eyes wide.⁠ ⁠…

“He has gone away, gone to the Tchernigov province. I have given him my estate.⁠ ⁠…”

Liza turned fearfully pale, and caught at Groholsky’s shoulder to save herself from falling.

“I saw him off at the steamer at three o’clock.”

Liza suddenly clutched at her head, made a movement, and falling on the seat, began shaking all over.

“Vanya,” she wailed, “Vanya! I will go to Vanya.⁠ ⁠… Darling!”

She had a fit of hysterics.⁠ ⁠…