'What do you think,' she went on: 'will he write to me once more?' 'I don't think so, Lizaveta Kirillovna!' She was silent. 'And after all, why should he write? He told me everything in his first letter. I could not be his wife; but I have been happy ... not for long ... I have been happy ...' Bizmyonkov looked down. 'Ah,' she went on quickly, 'if you knew how I loathe that Tchulkaturin ... I always fancy I see on that man's hands ... his blood.' (I shuddered behind my chink.) 'Though indeed,' she added, dreamily, 'who knows, perhaps, if it had not been for that duel.... Ah, when I saw him wounded I felt at once that I was altogether his.' 'Tchulkaturin loves you,' observed Bizmyonkov. 'What is that to me? I don't want any one's love.'... She stopped and added slowly, 'Except yours. Yes, my friend, your love is necessary to me; except for you, I should be lost. You have helped me to bear terrible moments ...' She broke off ... Bizmyonkov began with fatherly tenderness stroking her hand. 'There's no help for it! What is one to do! what is one to do, Lizaveta Kirillovna!' he repeated several times. 'And now indeed,' she went on in a lifeless voice, 'I should die, I think, if it were not for you. It's you alone that keep me up; besides, you remind me of him.... You knew all about it, you see. Do you remember how fine he was that day.... But forgive me; it must be hard for you....' 'Go on, go on! Nonsense! Bless you!' Bizmyonkov interrupted her. She pressed his hand. 'You are very good, Bizmyonkov,' she went on;' you are good as an angel. What can I do! I feel I shall love him to the grave. I have forgiven him, I am grateful to him. God give him happiness! May God give him a wife after his own heart'--and her eyes filled with tears--'if only he does not forget me, if only he will sometimes think of his Liza!--Let us go,' she added, after a brief silence. Bizmyonkov raised her hand to his lips. 'I know,' she began again hotly, 'every one is blaming me now, every one is throwing stones at me. Let them! I wouldn't, any way, change my misery for their happiness ... no! no!... He did not love me for long, but he loved me! He never deceived me, he never told me I should be his wife; I never dreamed of it myself. It was only poor papa hoped for it. And even now I am not altogether unhappy; the memory remains to me, and however fearful the results ... I'm stifling here ... it was here I saw him the last time.... Let's go into the air.'