Stavrogin still remained silent, but the visitor had evidently said all he had come to say and gazed at him persistently, waiting for an answer.
“If I am not mistaken (but it’s quite certain), Lizaveta Nikolaevna is already betrothed to you,” Stavrogin said at last.
“Promised and betrothed,” Mavriky Nikolaevitch assented firmly and clearly.
“You have … quarrelled? Excuse me, Mavriky Nikolaevitch.”
“No, she ‘loves and respects me’; those are her words. Her words are more precious than anything.”
“Of that there can be no doubt.”
“But let me tell you, if she were standing in the church at her wedding and you were to call her, she’d give up me and every one and go to you.”
“From the wedding?”
“Yes, and after the wedding.”
“Aren’t you making a mistake?”
“No. Under her persistent, sinc
