Lisa grew paler: her whole frame was trembling slightly; but she was not silenced.
“You must forgive,” she murmured softly, “if you wish to be forgiven.”
“Forgive!” broke in Lavretsky. “Ought you not first to know whom you are interceding for? Forgive that woman, take her back into my home, that empty, heartless creature! And who told you she wants to return to me? She is perfectly contented with her position, I can assure you... But what a subject to discuss here! Her name ought never to be uttered by you. You are too pure, you are not capable of understanding such a creature.”
“Why abuse her?” Lisa articulated with an effort. The trembling of her hands was perceptible now. “You left her yourself, Fedor Ivanitch.”
“But I tell you,” retorted Lavretsky with an involuntary outburst of impatience, “you don’t know what that woman is!”
“Then why did you marry her?” whispered Lisa, and her eyes fell.
Lavretsky got up quickly from his seat.
“Why did I marry her? I was young and inexperienced; I was deceived, I was carried away by a beautiful exterior. I knew no women. I knew nothing. God grant you may make a happier marriage! but let me tell you, you can be sure of nothing.”
“I too might be unhappy,” said Lisa (her voice had begun to be unsteady), “but then I ought to submit, I don’t know how to say it; but if we do not submit”—
Lavretsky clenched his hands and stamped with his foot.