"I felt very sorry for him to-day,"--Lavretzky resumed:--"with his unsuccessful romance. To be young, and be able to do a thing--that can be borne; but to grow old, and not have the power--is painful. And the offensive thing about it is, that you are not conscious when your powers begin to wane. It is difficult for an old man to endure these shocks!... Look out, the fish are biting at your hook.... They say,"--added Lavretzky, after a brief pause,--"that Vladimir Nikolaitch has written a very pretty romance." "Yes,"--replied Liza;--"it is a trifle, but it is not bad." "And what is your opinion,"--asked Lavretzky:--"is he a good musician?" "It seems to me that he has great talent for music; but up to the present time he has not cultivated it as he should." "Exactly. And is he a nice man?" Liza laughed, and cast a quick glance at Feodor Ivanitch. "What a strange question!"--she exclaimed, drawing up her hook, and flinging it far out again. "Why is it strange?--I am asking you about him as a man who has recently come hither, as your relative." "As a relative?" "Yes. I believe I am a sort of uncle to you." "Vladimir Nikolaitch has a kind heart,"--said Liza:--"he is clever; mamma is very fond of him." "And do you like him?" "He is a nice man: why should not I like him?" "Ah!"--said Lavretzky, and relapsed into silence. A half-mournful, half-sneering expression flitted across his face. His tenacious gaze discomfited Liza, but she continued to smile. "Well, God grant them happiness!"--he muttered, at last, as though to himself, and turned away his head. Liza blushed. "You are mistaken, Feodor Ivanitch,"--she said:--"there is no cause for your thinking.... But do not you like Vladimir Nikolaitch?" "I do not." "Why?" "It seems to me, that he has no heart." The smile vanished from Liza's face. "You have become accustomed to judge people harshly,"--she said, after a long silence. "I think not. What right have I to judge others harshly, when I myself stand in need of indulgence? Or have you forgotten that a lazy man is the only one who does not laugh at me?... Well,"--he added:--"and have you kept your promise?" "What promise?" "Have you prayed for me?" "Yes, I have prayed, and I do pray for you every day. But please do not speak lightly of that." Lavretzky began to assure Liza, that such a thing had never entered his head, that he entertained a profound respect for all convictions; then he entered upon a discussion of religion, its significance in the history of mankind, the significance of Christianity.... "One must be a Christian,"--said Liza, not without a certain effort:--"not in order to understand heavenly things ... yonder ... earthly things, but because every man must die." Lavretzky, with involuntary surprise, raised his eyes to Liza's, and encountered her glance. "What a word you have uttered!"--said he. "The word is not mine,"--she replied. "It is not yours.... But why do you speak of death?"