Lavretzky spent a day and a half at Vasilievskoe, and during nearly the whole of that time he wandered about the neighbourhood. He could not remain long in one place: anguish gnawed him; he experienced all the torture of incessant, impetuous, and impotent impulses. He recalled the feeling which had taken possession of his soul on the day following his arrival in the country; he recalled his intentions at that time, and waxed very angry with himself. What could have torn him away from that which he recognised as his duty, the sole task of his future? The thirst for happiness--once more, the thirst for happiness!--"Obviously, Mikhalevitch is right," he thought. "Thou hast wished once more to taste of happiness in life,"--he said to himself,--"thou hast forgotten what a luxury, what an unmerited mercy it is when it has visited a man even once. It was not complete, thou wilt say? But put forth thy claims to complete, genuine happiness! Look about thee: who of those around thee is blissful, who enjoys himself? Yonder, a peasant is driving to the reaping; perchance, he is satisfied with his lot.... What of that? Wouldst thou change with him? Remember thy mother: how insignificantly small were her demands, and what lot fell to her share? Thou hast, evidently, only been bragging before Panshin, when thou saidst to him, that thou hadst come to Russia in order to till the earth; thou hast come in order to run after the girls in thine old age. The news of thy freedom came, and thou didst discard everything, thou didst forget everything, thou didst run like a little boy after a butterfly."... Liza's image uninterruptedly presented itself before his thoughts; with an effort he drove it away, as he did also another importunate image, other imperturbably-crafty, beautiful, and detested features. Old Anton noticed that his master was not himself; after heaving several sighs outside the door, and several more on the threshold, he made up his mind to approach him, and advised him to drink something warm. Lavretzky shouted at him, ordered him to leave the room, but afterward begged his pardon; but this caused Anton to grow still more disconsolate. Lavretzky could not sit in the drawing-room; he felt as though his great-grandfather Andrei were gazing scornfully from the canvas at his puny descendant.--"Ekh, look out for thyself! thou art sailing in shoal water!" his lips, pursed up on one side, seemed to be saying. "Can it be,"--he thought,--"that I shall not be able to conquer myself,--that I shall give in to this--nonsense?" (The severely-wounded in war always call their wounds "nonsense." If a man could not deceive himself,--he could not live on the earth.) "Am I really a miserable little boy? Well, yes: I have beheld close by, I have almost held in my hand, the possibility of happiness for my whole life--it has suddenly vanished; and in a lottery, if you turn the wheel just a little further, a poor man might become a rich one.