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Updated: May 11, 2025
"Come, that's enough. . . . I forgive you. Only God forbid it should happen again! I forgive you for the fifth time, but I shall not forgive you for the sixth, as God is holy. God does not forgive such as you for such things." Bugrov bent down and put out his shining lips towards Liza's little head. But the kiss did not follow.
Just when the partridges, Groholsky's favorite dish, had been put on the table, Liza was suddenly overcome with confusion, and Groholsky began wiping his face with his dinner napkin. On the verandah of the villa opposite they saw Bugrov. He was standing with his arms leaning on the parapet, and staring straight at them, with his eyes starting out of his head.
Groholsky's hair went grey, but he did not die: he is alive to this day. . . . He came back from abroad to have "just a peep" at Liza . . . . Bugrov met him with open arms, and made him stay for an indefinite period. He is staying with Bugrov to this day. This year I happened to be passing through Groholyovka, Bugrov's estate.
What glorious air breathed fragrance on his face and neck! It would be good to breathe such air lolling on the cushions of a carriage . . . . Out there, far beyond the town, among the villages and the summer villas, the air was sweeter still. . . . Bugrov actually smiled as he dreamed of the air that would be about him when he would go out on the verandah of his villa and admire the view.
It would be cruel to exchange that warm little cot for a chilly sofa in the hotel, and she consented. "I shall see him," she said. Bugrov bowed, walked out, and flew down the stairs in his splendour, cleaving the air with his expensive cane. . . . "Home," he said to the cabman. "I am starting at five o'clock to-morrow morning. . . . You will come; if I am asleep, you will wake me.
Is one not enough? Go away till . . . . Torturers!" Bugrov paused; then shouted: "Go away I tell you, go to the nursery! Why are you blubbering, it is your own fault, and you blubber! What a woman! Last year you were after Petka Totchkov, now you are after this devil. Lord forgive us! . . . Tfoo, it's time you understood what you are! A wife! A mother!
And bending down to Liza, Bugrov whispered, loudly enough, however, to be heard several yards away: "I will come to you at night, Lizanka. . . . Don't worry. . . . I am staying at Feodosia close by. . . . I will live here near you till I have run through everything . . . and I soon shall be at my last farthing! A-a-ah, what a life it is!
I have a child to bring up. . . . Well, thank God that you will buy my furniture. . . . That will be a little more in hand, or I should have been regularly bankrupt. . . ." Groholsky got up, took leave of Bugrov, and went home rejoicing. In the evening he sent him ten thousand roubles. Early next morning Bugrov and Mishutka were already at Feodosia. Several months had passed; spring had come.
Groholsky passed his fingers from one shoulder to another, as though to say, "My chest is weak, and so I can't shout across such a distance." Liza's heart began throbbing, and everything turned round before her eyes. Bugrov ran from his verandah, ran across the road, and a few seconds later was standing under the verandah on which Groholsky and Liza were dining. Alas for the partridges!
At first the boy howled, but when he was offered jam, he was all friendly smiles. For three days Groholsky and Liza did not see Bugrov. He had disappeared somewhere, and was only at home at night. On the fourth day he visited them again at dinner-time. He came in, shook hands with both of them, and sat down to the table. His face was serious. "I have come to you on business," he said. "Read this."
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