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Updated: June 7, 2025
"A business agreement is beyond price. I am not going to give up Mishutka. . . ." "What Mishutka?" asked Groholsky. "My son." Groholsky and Liza looked at each other. Liza's eyes bulged, her cheeks flushed, and her lips twitched. . . . "Very well," she said. She thought of Mishutka's warm little cot.
And he handed Groholsky a letter. "Read it! Read it aloud!" Groholsky read as follows: "My beloved and consoling, never-forgotten son Ioann! I have received the respectful and loving letter in which you invite your aged father to the mild and salubrious Crimea, to breathe the fragrant air, and behold strange lands.
She plays with the Groholskys, the Lizas, the Ivans, and the Mishutkas as with pawns. . . . Groholsky lost his peace again. . . . One morning, about ten days afterwards, on waking up late, he went out on to the verandah and saw a spectacle which shocked him, revolted him, and moved him to intense indignation. Under the verandah of the villa opposite stood the French women, and between them Liza.
She ran away by night when Groholsky was asleep . . . . After reading her letter Groholsky spent a whole week wandering round about the villa as though he were mad, and neither ate nor slept. In August, he had an attack of recurrent fever, and in September he went abroad.
Dreariness, ill . . . my chest is bad, and my stomach is bad." Bugrov ceased speaking, and then it was Liza's turn. . . . My God, the cruelty of that woman! She began weeping, complaining, enumerating all the defects of her lover and her own sufferings. Groholsky as he listened to her, felt that he was a villain, a miscreant, a murderer. "He makes me miserable. . . ." Liza said in conclusion.
A long while he dreamed. . . . The sun had set, and still he stood and dreamed, trying his utmost to cast out of his mind the image of Liza which obstinately pursued him in all his dreams. "I have brought it, Ivan Petrovitch!" Groholsky, re-entering, whispered above his ear.
They had not a single musical instrument in their villa. Groholsky and she were musicians only in soul, no more. There were a great many boxes and packages with the words: "with care" upon them carried in after the piano. They were boxes of looking-glasses and crockery. A gorgeous and luxurious carriage was dragged in, at the gate, and two white horses were led in looking like swans.
Groholsky led Liza on to the verandah, and pointed to the villa opposite. They both held their sides, and roared with laughter. It was funny. Ivan Petrovitch was standing on the verandah of the villa opposite, smiling. Two dark-haired ladies and Mishutka were standing below, under the verandah. The ladies were laughing, and loudly talking French. "French women," observed Groholsky.
One fine morning Groholsky came home from a walk good-humoured and beaming. "He has come," he said to Liza, rubbing his hands. "I am very glad he has come. Ha-ha-ha!" "What are you laughing at?" "There are women with him." "What women?" "I don't know. . . . It's a good thing he has got women. . . . A capital thing, in fact. . . . He is still young and fresh. Come here! Look!"
All too soon he paid for his egoism. At the beginning of May when the very air seemed to be in love and faint with happiness, Groholsky lost everything; the woman he loved and. . . That year Bugrov, too, visited the Crimea. He did not take the villa opposite, but pottered about, going from one town to another with Mishutka. He spent his time eating, drinking, sleeping, and playing cards.
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