t, that as soon as he was left
alone, Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch would begin beating on the wall with his
fists, and no doubt he would have been glad to see this, if that
had been possible. But, if so, he was greatly mistaken. Nikolay
Vsyevolodovitch was still calm. He remained standing for two minutes in
the same position by the table, apparently plunged in thought, but soon
a cold and listless smile came on to his lips. He slowly sat down again
in the same place in the corner of the sofa, and shut his eyes as though
from weariness. The corner of the letter was still peeping from under
the paperweight, but he didn't even move to cover it.

He soon sank into complete forgetfulness.

When Pyotr Stepanovitch went out without coming to see her, as he had
promised, Varvara Petrovna, who had been worn out by anxiety during
these days, could not control herself, and ventured to visit her son
herself, though it was not her regular time. She was still haunted by
the idea that he would tell her something conclusive. She knocked at
the door gently as before, and again receiving no answer, she opened
the door. Seeing that Nikolay Vsyevolodovitch was sitting strangely
motionless, she cautiously advanced to the sofa with a throbbing heart.
She seemed struck by the fact that he could fall asleep so quickly and
that he could sleep sitting like that, so erect and motionless, so
that his breathing even was scarcely perceptible. His face was pale and
forbidding, but it looked, as it were, numb and rigid. His brows were
somewhat contracted and frowning. He positively had the look of a
lifeless wax figure. She stood over him for about three minutes,
almost holding her breath, and suddenly she was seized with terror. She
withdrew on tiptoe, stopped at the door, hurriedly made the sign of the
cross over him, and retreated unobserved, with a new oppression and a
new anguish at her heart.

He slept a long while, more than an hour, and still in the same rigid
pose: not a muscle of his face twitched, there was not the faintest
movement in his whole body, and his brows were still contracted in the
same forbidding frown. If Varvara Petrovna had remained another three
minutes she could not have endured the stifling sensation that this
motionless lethargy roused in her, and would have waked him. But he
suddenly opened his eyes, and sat for ten minutes as immovable as
before, staring persistently and curiously, as though at some object
in the corner