“One would not suppose so, looking at you now; you have such a bright, happy face, you are smiling.”
“Yes, I am very happy just now,” replied Lisa simply.
Lavretsky would have liked to seize both her hands, and press them warmly.
“Lisa, Lisa!” cried Marya Dmitrievna, “do come here, and look what a fine carp I have caught.”
“In a minute, maman,” replied Lisa, and went towards her, but Lavretsky remained sitting on his willow. “I talk to her just as if life were not over for me,” he thought. As she went away, Lisa hung her hat on a twig; with strange, almost tender emotion, Lavretsky looked at the hat, and its long rather crumpled ribbons. Lisa soon came back to him, and again took her stand on the platform.
“What makes you think Vladimir Nikolaitch has no heart?” she asked a few minutes later.
“I have told you already that I may be mistaken; time will show, however.”
Lisa grew thoughtful. Lavretsky began to tell her about his daily life at Vassilyevskoe, about Mihalevitch, and about Anton; he felt a need to talk to Lisa, to share with her everything that was passing in his heart; she listened so sweetly, so attentively; her few replies and observations seemed to him so simple and so intelligent. He even told her so.
Lisa was surprised.
“Really?” she said; “I thought that I was like my maid, Nastya; I had no words of my own. She said one day to her sweetheart: ‘You must be dull with me; you always talk so finely to me, and I have no words of my own.’”