Alyosha stood still, holding her hand in his.
Suddenly he stooped down and kissed her on her lips.
"Oh, what are you doing?" cried Lise.
Alyosha was terribly abashed.
"Oh, forgive me if I shouldn't.... Perhaps I'm awfully stupid.... You said I was cold, so I kissed you.... But I see it was stupid."
Lise laughed, and hid her face in her hands.
"And in that dress!" she ejaculated in the midst of her mirth. But she suddenly ceased laughing and became serious, almost stern.
"Alyosha, we must put off kissing. We are not ready for that yet, and we shall have a long time to wait," she ended suddenly. "Tell me rather why you who are so clever, so intellectual, so observant, choose a little idiot, an invalid like me?
Ah, Alyosha, I am awfully happy, for I don't deserve you a bit."
"You do, Lise.
I shall be leaving the monastery altogether in a few days.
If I go into the world, I must marry. I know that.
He told me to marry, too.
Whom could I marry better than you- and who would have me except you?
I have been thinking it over.
In the first place, you've known me from a child and you've a great many qualities I haven't.
You are more light-hearted than I am; above all, you are more innocent than I am. I have been brought into contact with many, many things already.... Ah, you don't know, but I, too, am a Karamazov.
What does it matter if you do laugh and make jokes, and at me, too? Go on laughing. I am so glad you do. You laugh like a little child, but you think like a martyr."
"Like a martyr?
How?"
"Yes, Lise, your question just now: whether we weren't showing contempt for that poor man by dissecting his soul- that was the question of a sufferer.... You see, I don't know how to express it, but anyone who thinks of such questions is capable of suffering.
Sitting in your invalid chair you must have thought over many things already."
"Alyosha, give me your hand. Why are you taking it away?" murmured Lise in a failing voice, weak with happiness. "Listen, Alyosha. What will you wear when you come out of the monastery? What sort of suit?
Don't laugh, don't be angry, it's very, very important to me."
"I haven't thought about the suit, Lise; But I'll wear whatever you like."
"I should like you to have a dark blue velvet coat, a white pique waistcoat, and a soft grey felt hat.... Tell me, did you believe that I didn't care for you when I said I didn't mean what I wrote?"
"No, I didn't believe it."
"Oh, you insupportable person, you are incorrigible."
"You see, I knew that you seemed to care for me, but I pretended to believe that you didn't care for me to make it easier for you."
"That makes it worse!
Worse and better than all!
Alyosha, I am awfully fond of you.
Just before you came this morning, I tried my fortune. I decided I would ask you for my letter, and if you brought it out calmly and gave it to me (as might have been expected from you) it would mean that you did not love me at all, that you felt nothing, and were simply a stupid boy, good for nothing, and that I am ruined.
But you left the letter at home and that cheered me. You left it behind on purpose, so as not to give it back, because you knew I would ask for it?
That was it, wasn't it?"
"Ah, Lise, it was not so a bit. The letter is with me now, and it was this morning, in this pocket. Here it is."
Alyosha pulled the letter out laughing, and showed it her at a distance.
"But I am not going to give it to you. Look at it from here."
"Why, then you told a lie? You, a monk, told a lie!"
"I told a lie if you like," Alyosha laughed, too. "I told a lie so as not to give you back the letter.
It's very precious to me," he added suddenly, with strong feeling, and again he flushed. "It always will be, and I won't give it up to anyone!"
Lise looked at him joyfully.
"Alyosha," she murmured again, "look at the door. Isn't mamma listening?"
"Very well, Lise, I'll look; but wouldn't it be better not to look?
Why suspect your mother of such meanness?"
"What meanness?
As for her spying on her daughter, it's her right, it's not meanness!" cried Lise, firing up. "You may be sure, Alexey Fyodorovitch, that when I am a mother, if I have a daughter like myself I shall certainly spy on her!"
"Really, Lise?
That's not right."
"Oh, my goodness! What has meanness to do with it?