“Quite true—I shall bring him down myself,—I shall take him and bring him!”
“He will deceive you somehow!” cried the child, drooping her eyes.
“Doesn't he love you, then, Liza?”
“No.”
“Has he ill-treated you,—has he?”
Liza looked gloomily at her questioner, and said nothing. She then turned away from him and sat still and depressed.
Velchaninoff commenced to talk: he tried to win her,—he spoke warmly—excitedly—feverishly.
Liza listened incredulously and with a hostile air,—but still she listened. Her attention delighted him beyond measure;—he went so far as to explain to her what it meant when a man took to drink. He said that he loved her and would himself look after her father.
At last Liza raised her eyes and gazed fixedly at him.
Then Velchaninoff began to speak of her mother and of how well he had known her; and he saw that his tales attracted her. Little by little she began to reply to his questions, but very cautiously and in an obstinately monosyllabic way.