a lie? You, a monk, told a lie!”
“I told a lie if you like,” Alyosha laughed, too. “I told a lie so as not to give you back the letter. It’s very precious to me,” he added suddenly, with strong feeling, and again he flushed. “It always will be, and I won’t give it up to anyone!”
Lise looked at him joyfully.
“Alyosha,” she murmured again, “look at the door. Isn’t mamma listening?”
“Very well, Lise, I’ll look; but wouldn’t it be better not to look? Why suspect your mother of such meanness?”
“What meanness? As for her spying on her daughter, it’s her right, it’s not meanness!” cried Lise, firing up. “You may be sure, Alexey Fyodorovitch, that when I am a mother, if I have a daughter like myself I shall certainly spy on her!”
“Really, Lise? That’s not right.”
“Oh, my goodness! What has meanness to do with it? If she were listening to some ordinary worldly conversation, it