Liza rose: Lavrétzky followed her. As they were descending the staircase, Liza halted.
"They tell the truth,"—she began:—"when they say that the hearts of men are full of contradictions. Your example ought to frighten me, to render me distrustful of marriage for love, but I...."
"You have refused him?"—interrupted Lavrétzky.
"No; but I have not accepted him. I told him everything, everything that I felt, and asked him to wait. Are you satisfied?"—she added, with a swift smile,—and lightly touching the railing with her hand, she ran down the stairs.
"What shall I play for you?"—she asked, as she raised the lid of the piano.
"Whatever you like,"—replied Lavrétzky, and seated himself in such a position that he could watch her.
Liza began to play, and, for a long time, never took her eyes from her fingers. At last, she glanced at Lavrétzky, and stopped short: so wonderful and strange did his face appear to her.
"What is the matter with you?"—she asked.
"Nothing,"—he replied:—"all is very well with me; I am glad for you, I am glad to look at you,—go on."
"It seems to me,"—said Liza, a few moments later:—"that if he really loved me, he would not have written that letter; he ought to have felt that I could not answer him now."