"You do not recognise me,"—he said, removing his hat,—"but I recognise you, although eight years have passed since I saw you last. You were a child then. I am Lavrétzky. Is your mother at home? Can I see her?"
"Mamma will be very glad,"—replied Liza:—"she has heard of your arrival."
"Your name is Elizavéta, I believe?"—said Lavrétzky, as he mounted the steps of the porch.
"Yes."
"I remember you well; you had a face, at that time, such as one does not forget; I used to bring you bonbons then."
Liza blushed and thought, "What a strange man he is!" Lavrétzky paused for a minute in the anteroom. Liza entered the drawing-room, where Pánshin's voice and laughter were resounding; he had imparted some gossip of the town to Márya Dmítrievna and Gedeónovsky, who had already returned from the garden, and was himself laughing loudly at what he had narrated. At the name of Lavrétzky, Márya Dmítrievna started in utter trepidation, turned pale, and advanced to meet him.
"How do you do, how do you do, my dear cousin!"—she exclaimed, in a drawling and almost tearful voice:—"how glad I am to see you!"
"How do you do, my kind cousin,"—returned Lavrétzky; and shook her proffered hand in a friendly way:—"how does the Lord show mercy on you?"
"Sit down, sit down, my dear Feódor Ivánitch. Akh, how delighted I am! Permit me, in the first place, to present to you my daughter Liza...."
"I have already introduced myself to Lizavéta Mikhaílovna,"—Lavrétzky interrupted her.