But soon a smile gleamed on his lips--a smile of haughty triumph and at the same time of a blank, incredulous wonder.

The visitor, Mavriky Nikolaevitch, seemed struck by the expression of that smile as he came in; anyway, he stood still in the middle of the room as though uncertain whether to come further in or to turn back.

Stavrogin succeeded at once in transforming the expression of his face, and with an air of grave surprise took a step towards him.
The visitor did not take his outstretched hand, but awkwardly moved a chair and, not uttering a word, sat down without waiting for his host to do so.

Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch sat down on the sofa facing him obliquely and, looking at Mavriky Nikolaevitch, waited in silence.
"If you can, marry Lizaveta Nikolaevna," Mavriky Nikolaevitch brought out suddenly at last, and what was most curious, it was impossible to tell from his tone whether it was an entreaty, a recommendation, a surrender, or a command.
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.