“Of course—but—what a fool I am—how in the world should you know! Providence sent us the gift after you had gone!”
Pavel Pavlovitch jumped off his chair in apparently pleasurable excitement.
“I heard nothing of it!” said Velchaninoff, looking very pale.
“How should you? how should you?” repeated Pavel Pavlovitch with ineffable sweetness. “We had quite lost hope of any children—as you may remember,—when suddenly Heaven sent us this little one. And, oh! my feelings—Heaven alone knows what I felt! Just a year after you went, I think—no, wait a bit—not a year by a long way!—Let's see, you left us in October, or November, didn't you?”
“I left T—— on the twelfth of September, I remember well.”
“Hum! September was it? Dear me! Well, then, let's see—September, October, November, December, January, February, March, April—to the 8th of May—that was Liza's birthday—eight months all but a bit; and if you could only have seen the dear departed, how rejoiced——”
“Show her to me—call her in!” the words seemed to tear themselves from Velchaninoff, whether he liked it or no.
“Certainly—this moment!” cried Pavel Pavlovitch, forgetting that he had not finished his previous sentence, or ignoring the fact; and he hastily left the room, and entered the small chamber adjoining.
Three or four minutes passed by, while Velchaninoff heard the rapid interchange of whispers going on, and an occasional rather louder sound of Liza's voice, apparently entreating her father to leave her alone—so Velchaninoff concluded.
At last the two came out.