t
doctor no caustic?'

'No.'

'How was that, good Heavens? A doctor not have such an indispensable
thing as that!'

'You should have seen his lancets,' observed Bazarov as he walked away.

Up till late that evening, and all the following day, Vassily
Ivanovitch kept catching at every possible excuse to go into his son's
room; and though far from referring to the cut--he even tried to talk
about the most irrelevant subjects--he looked so persistently into his
face, and watched him in such trepidation, that Bazarov lost patience
and threatened to go away. Vassily Ivanovitch gave him a promise not to
bother him, the more readily as Arina Vlasyevna, from whom, of course,
he kept it all secret, was beginning to worry him as to why he did not
sleep, and what had come over him. For two whole days he held himself
in, though he did not at all like the look of his son, whom he kept
watching stealthily, ... but on the third day, at dinner, he could bear
it no longer. Bazarov sat with downcast looks, and had not touched a
single dish.

'Why don't you eat, Yevgeny?' he inquired, putting on an expression of
the most perfect carelessness. 'The food, I think, is very nicely
cooked.'

'I don't want anything, so I don't eat.'

'Have you no appetite? And your head?' he added timidly; 'does it
ache?'

'Yes. Of course, it aches.'

Arina Vlasyevna sat up and was all alert.

'Don't be angry, please, Yevgeny,' continued Vassily Ivanovitch; 'won't
you let me feel your pulse?'

Bazarov got up. 'I can tell you without feeling my pulse; I'm
feverish.'

'Has there been any shivering?'

'Yes, there has been shivering too. I'll go and lie down, and you can
send me some lime-flower tea. I must have caught cold.'

'To be sure, I heard you coughing last night,' observed Arina
Vlasyevna.

'I've caught cold,' repeated Bazarov, and he went away.

Arina Vlasyevna busied herself about the preparation of the decoction
of lime-flowers, while Vassily Ivanovitch went into the next room and
clutched at his hair in silent desperation.

Bazarov did not get up again that day, and passed the whole night in
heavy, half-unconscious torpor. At one o'clock in the morning, opening
his eyes with an effort, he saw by the light of a lamp his father's
pale face bending over him, and told him to go away. The old man begged
his pardon, but he quickly came back on tiptoe, and half-hidden by the
cupboard door, he gazed persistently at his son. Arina Vlasy