Lemm rose from his bench.
"No, she does not love him. That is to say, she is very pure of heart, and does not herself know the meaning of the words, 'to love.' Madame Von Kalitine tells her that he is an excellent young man; and she obeys Madame Von Kalitine because she is still quite a child, although she is now nineteen. She says her prayers every morning; she says her prayers every evening—and that is very praiseworthy. But she does not love him. She can love only what is noble. But he is not noble; that is to say, his soul is not noble."
Lemm uttered the whole of this speech fluently, and with animation, walking backwards and forwards with short steps in front of the tea-table, his eyes running along the ground meanwhile.
"Dearest Maestro!" suddenly exclaimed Lavretsky, "I think you are in love with my cousin yourself."
Lemm suddenly stopped short.
"Please do not jest with me in that way," he began, with faltering voice. "I am not out of my mind. I look forward to the dark grave, and not to a rosy future."
Lavretsky felt sorry for the old man, and begged his pardon. After breakfast Lemm played his cantata, and after dinner, at Lavretsky's own instigation, he again began to talk about Liza. Lavretsky listened to him attentively and with curiosity.
"What do you say to this, Christopher Fedorovitch?" he said at last.
"Every thing seems in order here now, and the garden is in full bloom.
Why shouldn't I invite her to come here for the day, with her mother
and my old aunt—eh? Will that be agreeable to you?"
Lemm bowed his head over his plate.
"Invite her," he said, in a scarcely audible voice.