surest basis for happiness in marriage.... Unluckily, I lost sight of
one rather important circumstance, which was that Liza had hated me
ever since the day of the duel. I found this out too late. I began, as
before, to be a frequent visitor at the house of the Ozhogins. Kirilla
Matveitch received me with more effusiveness and affability than he had
ever done. I have even ground for believing that he would at that time
have cheerfully given me his daughter, though I was certainly not a
match to be coveted. Public opinion was very severe upon him and Liza,
while, on the other hand, it extolled me to the skies. Liza's attitude
to me was unchanged. She was, for the most part, silent; obeyed, when
they begged her to eat, showed no outward signs of sorrow, but, for all
that, was wasting away like a candle. I must do Kirilla Matveitch the
justice to say that he spared her in every way. Old Madame Ozhogin only
ruffled up her feathers like a hen, as she looked at her poor nestling.
There was only one person Liza did not shun, though she did not talk
much even to him, and that was Bizmyonkov. The old people were rather
short, not to say rude, in their behaviour to him. They could not
forgive him for having been second in the duel. But he went on going to
see them, as though he did not notice their unamiability. With me he
was very chilly, and--strange to say--I felt, as it were, afraid of
him. This state of things went on for a fortnight. At last, after a
sleepless night, I resolved to have it out with Liza, to open my heart
to her, to tell her that, in spite of the past, in spite of all
possible gossip and scandal, I should consider myself only too happy if
she would give me her hand, and restore me her confidence. I really did
seriously imagine that I was showing what they call in the school
reading-books an unparalleled example of magnanimity, and that, from
sheer amazement alone, she would consent. In any case, I resolved to
have an explanation and to escape, at last, from suspense.