Kirilov listened and said nothing, as though he did not understand
Russian.

When Abogin mentioned again Paptchinsky and his wife's father and
once more began feeling in the dark for his hand the doctor shook
his head and said apathetically, dragging out each word:

"Excuse me, I cannot come . . . my son died . . . five minutes ago!"

"Is it possible!" whispered Abogin, stepping back a pace. "My God,
at what an unlucky moment I have come! A wonderfully unhappy day . . .
wonderfully. What a coincidence. . . . It's as though it were
on purpose!"

Abogin took hold of the door-handle and bowed his head. He was
evidently hesitating and did not know what to do--whether to go
away or to continue entreating the doctor.

"Listen," he said fervently, catching hold of Kirilov's sleeve. "I
well understand your position! God is my witness that I am ashamed
of attempting at such a moment to intrude on your attention, but
what am I to do? Only think, to whom can I go? There is no other
doctor here, you know. For God's sake come! I am not asking you for
myself. . . . I am not the patient!"

A silence followed. Kirilov turned his back on Abogin, stood still
a moment, and slowly walked into the drawing-room. Judging from his
unsteady, mechanical step, from the attention with which he set
straight the fluffy shade on the unlighted lamp in the drawing-room