"There has never been any one similar," Lensky assures him earnestly, and adds: "See, see how you thaw; you grow quite animated, dreamer." He is silent awhile, then he begins again: "Does she receive much company?"
"No; she sees as few people as possible."
"Ah!" says Lensky, with the triumphant expression of a hunter who has at length found the trace which he has long sought.
"She does not go into society, because conventional society is too tedious, too unmeaning for her," Nikolai hastily assures him.
"They all say that," replies Lensky, shaking his head. "My dear child, as long as I thought that it was only some passing fancy of yours, I was perfectly ready to let you have your way. But when it is a question of something so important as your marriage, I must earnestly beg you to be on your guard, to look into the matter more closely."
"But, father," says Nikolai, horrified, "all that I have told you should certainly prove to you----"
"It proves to me that you are intensely in love," says Lensky, good-naturedly. "For the rest, it points to all sorts of things which you have overlooked."
Once again Nikolai wishes to interrupt his father, but without noticing this, the latter continues:
"From all you say, she is much too interesting, much too attractive, for a girl of good family, who lives alone with an ex-favorite governess. And then, from whence comes the mysterious unsimilarity of her mood, the incurable sadness which forms the fundamental tone of her being? Inquire, Colia. If you come upon any trace of an unhappy love, a sad disappointment, then I will own myself satisfied, then all is explained. But if you discover nothing, then--then, be cautious. On the risk of falling completely from your favor, I would wager that she has secretly experienced some fearful shock--in a word, that she has a past."
"It is not possible!" exclaims Nikolai.