d, kind
friend!' he thought and shrugged his shoulders.

'Who is here?' he heard Insarov's voice.

Bersenyev went up to him. 'I am here, Dmitri Nikanorovitch. How are you?
How do you feel?'

'Are you alone?' asked the sick man.

'Yes.'

'And she?'

'Whom do you mean?' Bersenyev asked almost in dismay.

Insarov was silent. 'Mignonette,' he murmured, and his eyes closed
again.

XXVI

For eight whole days Insarov lay between life and death. The doctor was
incessantly visiting him, interested as a young man in a difficult case.
Shubin heard of Insarov's critical position, and made inquiries after
him. His compatriots--Bulgarians--came; among them Bersenyev recognised
the two strange figures, who had puzzled him by their unexpected visit
to the cottage; they all showed genuine sympathy, some offered to take
Bersenyev's place by the patient's bed-side; but he would not consent
to that, remembering his promise to Elena. He saw her every day and
secretly reported to her--sometimes by word of mouth, sometimes in a
brief note--every detail of the illness. With what sinkings of the heart
she awaited him, how she listened and questioned him! She was always on
the point of hastening to Insarov herself; but Bersenyev begged her not
to do this: Insarov was seldom alone. On the first day she knew of his
illness she herself had almost fallen ill; directly she got home,
she shut herself up in her room; but she was summoned to dinner, and
appeared in the dining-room with such a face that Anna Vassilyevna was
alarmed, and was anxious to put her to bed. Elena succeeded, however, in
controlling herself. 'If he dies,' she repeated, 'it will be the end
of me too.' This thought tranquillised her, and enabled her to seem
indifferent. Besides no one troubled her much; Anna Vassilyevna was
taken up with her swollen face; Shubin was working furiously; Zoya
was given up to pensiveness, and disposed to read _Werther_; Nikolai
Artemyevitch was much displeased at the frequent visits of 'the
scholar,' especially as his 'cherished projects' in regard to
Kurnatovsky were making no way; the practical chief secretary was
puzzled and biding his time. Elena did not even thank Bersenyev; there
are services for which thanks are cruel and shameful. Only once at her
fourth interview with him--Insarov had passed a very bad night, the
doctor had hinted at a consultation--only then she reminded him of his
promise. 'Very well, then let us go,' he