Liza leaned against the back of her chair, and gently lifted her hands to her face; Lavrétzky remained standing, as he was.
"This is how we were to meet again,"—he said, at last.
Liza took her hands from her face.
"Yes,"—she said dully:—"we were promptly punished."
"Punished?"—said Lavrétzky. "But what were you punished for?"
Liza raised her eyes to him. They expressed neither grief nor anxiety: they looked smaller and dimmer. Her face was pale; her slightly parted lips had also grown pale.
Lavrétzky's heart shuddered with pity and with love.
"You wrote to me: 'All is at an end,'"—he whispered:—"Yes, all is at an end—before it has begun."
"We must forget all that,"—said Liza:—"I am glad that you came; I wanted to write to you, but it is better thus. Only, we must make use, as promptly as possible, of these minutes. It remains for both of us to do our duty. You, Feódor Ivánitch, ought to become reconciled to your wife."
"Liza!"