The next morning the master of the house and his guest drank tea in the garden under an old time-tree.

“Master!” said Lavretsky among other things, “you will soon have to compose a triumphal cantata.”

“On what occasion?”

“For the nuptials of Mr. Panshin and Lisa. Did you notice what attention he paid her yesterday? It seems as though things were in a fair way with them already.”

“That will never be!” cried Lemm.

“Why?”

“Because it is impossible. Though, indeed,” he added after a short pause, “everything is possible in this world. Especially here among you in Russia.”

“We will leave Russia out of the question for a time; but what do you find amiss in this match?”

“Everything is amiss, everything. Lisaveta Mihalovna is a girl of high principles, serious, of lofty feelings, and he . . . he is a dilettante, in a word.”

“But suppose she loves him”

Lemm got up from the bench.

“No, she does not love him, that is to say, she is very pure in heart, and does not know herself what it means . . . love. Madame von Kalitin tells her that he is a fine young man, and she obeys Madame von Kalitin because she is still quite a child, though she is nineteen; she says her prayers in the morning and in the evening — and that is very well; but she does not love him. She can............