"Well, yes, what are we to do? Come, decide, wise little head . . . I love you, and a man in love is not fond of sharing. He is more than an egoist. It is too much for me to go shares with your husband. I mentally tear him to pieces, when I remember that he loves you too. In the second place you love me. . . . Perfect freedom is an essential condition for love. . . . And are you free? Are you not tortured by the thought that that man towers for ever over your soul? A man whom you do not love, whom very likely and quite naturally, you hate. . . . That's the second thing. . . . And thirdly. . . . What is the third thing? Oh yes. . . . We are deceiving him and that . . . is dishonourable. Truth before everything, Liza. Let us have done with lying!" "Well, then, what are we to do?" "You can guess. . . . I think it necessary, obligatory, to inform him of our relations and to leave him, to begin to live in freedom. Both must be done as quickly as possible. . . . This very evening, for instance. . . . It's time to make an end of it. Surely you must be sick of loving like a thief?" "Tell! tell Vanya?" "Why, yes!" "That's impossible! I told you yesterday, Michel, that it is impossible." "Why?" "He will be upset. He'll make a row, do all sorts of unpleasant things. . . . Don't you know what he is like? God forbid! There's no need to tell him. What an idea!" Groholsky passed his hand over his brow, and heaved a sigh. "Yes," he said, "he will be more than upset. I am robbing him of his happiness. Does he love you?" "He does love me. Very much." "There's another complication! One does not know where to begin. To conceal it from him is base, telling him would kill him. . . . Goodness knows what's one to do. Well, how is it to be?" Groholsky pondered. His pale face wore a frown. "Let us go on always as we are now," said Liza. "Let him find out for himself, if he wants to." "But you know that . . . is sinful, and besides the fact is you are mine, and no one has the right to think that you do not belong to me but to someone else! You are mine! I will not give way to anyone! . . . I am sorry for him--God knows how sorry I am for him, Liza! It hurts me to see him! But . . . it can't be helped after all. You don't love him, do you? What's the good of your going on being miserable with him? We must have it out! We will have it out with him, and you will come to me. You are my wife, and not his. Let him do what he likes. He'll get over his troubles somehow. . . . He is not the first, and he won't be the last. . . . Will you run away? Eh? Make haste and tell me! Will you run away?" Liza got up and looked inquiringly at Groholsky. "Run away?" "Yes. . . . To my estate. . . . Then to the Crimea. . . . We will tell him by letter. . . . We can go at night. There is a train at half past one. Well? Is that all right?" Liza scratched the bridge of her nose, and hesitated. "Very well," she said, and burst into tears.