"And is it possible ... is it possible that you did not even weep?"
"No. I was stunned; but where were the tears to come from? Weep over the past,—but, you see, it is entirely extirpated in my case!... Her behaviour itself did not destroy my happiness, but merely proved to me that it had never existed. What was there to cry about? But, who knows?—perhaps I should have been more grieved if I had received this news two weeks earlier...."
"Two weeks?"—returned Liza. "But what has happened in those two weeks?"
Lavrétzky made no answer, and Liza suddenly blushed more furiously than before.
"Yes, yes, you have guessed it,"—interposed Lavrétzky:—"in the course of those two weeks I have learned what a pure woman's soul is like, and my past has retreated still further from me."
Liza became confused, and softly walked toward the flower-garden, to Lyénotchka and Schúrotchka.
"And I am glad that I have shown you this newspaper,"—said Lavrétzky, as he followed her:—"I have already contracted the habit of concealing nothing from you, and I hope that you will repay me with the same confidence."
"Do you think so?"—said Liza, and stopped short. "In that case, I ought to ... but no! That is impossible."
"What is it? Speak, speak!"