“Yes, because you—”
The door from the adjoining room opened quickly and Marfa Timofyevna came in with her cap in her hand.
“I have found it at last,” she said, standing between Lavretsky and Lisa; “I had laid it down myself. That’s what age does for one, alack—though youth’s not much better.”
“Well, and are you going to Lavriky yourself with your wife?” she added, turning to Lavretsky.
“To Lavriky with her? I don’t know,” he said, after a moment’s hesitation.
“You are not going down-stairs.”
“To-day,—no, I’m not.”
“Well, well, you know best; but you, Lisa, I think, ought to go down. Ah, merciful powers, I have forgotten to feed my bullfinch. There, stop a minute, I’ll soon—” And Marfa Timofyevna ran off without putting on her cap.
Lavretsky walked quickly up to Lisa.
“Lisa,” he began in a voice of entreaty, “we are parting for ever, my heart is torn,—give me your hand at parting.”