Lavretzky ceased to follow her career; but he was not able speedily to conquer himself. At times, he was seized with such a longing for his wife, that it seemed to him, he would give everything--he would even, if necessary ... forgive her--if only he might again hear her caressing voice, again feel her hand in his hand. But time went on, and not in vain. He was not born to be a martyr; his healthy nature asserted its rights. Much became clear to him; the very blow which had assailed him, no longer seemed to him unforeseen; he understood his wife,--one understands a person who is near to one, when parted from him. Again he was able to occupy himself, to work, although with far less zeal than of yore: scepticism, for which the way had been prepared by the experiences of life, by his education, definitively took possession of his soul. He became extremely indifferent to everything. Four years elapsed, and he felt himself strong enough to return to his native land, to meet his own people. Without halting either in Petersburg or Moscow, he arrived in the town of O * * * where we took leave of him, and whither we now beg the indulgent reader to return with us. XVII On the morning following the day which we have described, at nine o'clock, Lavretzky ascended the porch of the Kalitin house. Liza emerged to meet him, in hat and gloves. "Where are you going?" he asked her. "To church. To-day is Sunday." "And do you really care to go to the Liturgy?" Liza said nothing, but gazed at him in amazement. "Pardon me, please,"--said Lavretzky,--"I ... I did not mean to say that. I came to say good-bye to you: I am going to my country place an hour hence." "It is not far from here, is it?"--inquired Liza. "Twenty-five versts." Lyenotchka made her appearance on the threshold of the door, accompanied by a maid. "See that you do not forget us,"--said Liza, and descended the steps. "And do not you forget me. And see here,"--he added,--"you are going to church: pray for me also, by the way." Liza paused and turned toward him. "Certainly,"--she said, looking him straight in the face:--"I will pray for you. Come along, Lyenotchka." Lavretzky found Marya Dmitrievna alone in the drawing-room. An odour of eau de cologne and mint emanated from her. She had a headache, according to her own account, and she had passed a restless night. She welcomed him with her customary languid amiability, and gradually got to talking. "What an agreeable young man Vladimir Nikolaitch is," she inquired:--"is he not?" "What Vladimir Nikolaitch?"