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Updated: May 17, 2025
Forgetting that Liza did not play, I asked her to play us something on the piano. "She does not play," said Bugrov; "she is no musician. . . . Hey, you there! Ivan! call Grigory Vassilyevitch here! What's he doing there?" And turning to me, Bugrov added, "Our musician will come directly; he plays the guitar. We keep the piano for Mishutka we are having him taught. . . ."
Ivan Petrovitch guffawing loudly, told them an anecdote of Armenian life at the top of his voice, so that all the villas round could hear. It was very gay and Mishutka sat up with them till midnight. "Misha is merry, he is not crying," thought Liza, "so he does not remember his mamma. So he has forgotten me!" And there was a horrible bitter feeling in Liza's soul. She spent the whole night crying.
Groholsky was not troubled by these visits, especially as they were brief and infrequent, and were apparently paid on account of Mishutka, who could not under any circumstances have been altogether deprived of the privilege of seeing his mother. Bugrov came, unpacked his presents, and after saying a few words, departed.
He could not exist without those honeyed kisses, and it was awkward to kiss her before Ivan Petrovitch. It was agony. The poor fellow felt forlorn, but fate soon had compassion on him. Ivan Petrovitch suddenly went off somewhere for a whole week. Visitors had come and carried him off with them . . . And Mishutka was taken too.
Liza's heart throbbed, and her head went round with joy and happiness. She sank into an armchair and went on observing them, sitting down. "How did they come here?" she wondered as she sent airy kisses to Mishutka. "Who gave them the idea of coming here? Heavens! Can all that wealth belong to them? Can those swan-like horses that were led in at the gate belong to Ivan Petrovitch? Ah!"
After lifting up both ladies on to the verandah, he lifted up Mishutka too. The ladies ran down and the proceedings were repeated. "Powerful muscles, I must say," muttered Groholsky looking at this scene.
Ivan Petrovitch whirled round, tossed his head, and, waving adieu to them, ran home. "Unhappy man," said Groholsky, heaving a deep sigh as he watched him go off. "In what way is he unhappy?" asked Liza. "To see you and not have the right to call you his!" "Fool!" Liza was so bold to think. "Idiot!" Before evening Liza was hugging and kissing Mishutka.
How boring all this would have been, O reader, if the villa opposite had not been at the service of my heroine! Liza watched that villa all day long and was gasping with happiness. At ten o'clock Ivan Petrovitch and Mishutka came back from fishing and had breakfast. At two o'clock they had dinner, and at four o'clock they drove off somewhere in a carriage.
And at the word "here" Ivan Petrovitch passed his open hand from his neck down to the middle of his stomach. "So you are here too. . . . Yes . . . that's very pleasant. Have you been here long?" "Since July." "Oh, and you, Liza, how are you? Quite well?" "Quite well," answered Liza, and was embarrassed. "You miss Mishutka, I'll be bound. Eh?
She was fretted by her little conscience, and by vexation and misery, and the desire to talk to Mishutka and kiss him. . . . In the morning she got up with a headache and tear-stained eyes. Her tears Groholsky put down to his own account. "Do not weep, darling," he said to her, "I am all right to-day, my chest is a little painful, but that is nothing."
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