and glanced into a thick book lying on the table, at that instant
he had no intention, no desire, was thinking of nothing and most
likely did not remember that there was a stranger in the entry. The
twilight and stillness of the drawing-room seemed to increase his
numbness. Going out of the drawing-room into his study he raised
his right foot higher than was necessary, and felt for the doorposts
with his hands, and as he did so there was an air of perplexity
about his whole figure as though he were in somebody else's house,
or were drunk for the first time in his life and were now abandoning
himself with surprise to the new sensation. A broad streak of light
stretched across the bookcase on one wall of the study; this light
came together with the close, heavy smell of carbolic and ether
from the door into the bedroom, which stood a little way open. . . .
The doctor sank into a low chair in front of the table; for a
minute he stared drowsily at his books, which lay with the light
on them, then got up and went into the bedroom.

Here in the bedroom reigned a dead silence. Everything to the
smallest detail was eloquent of the storm that had been passed
through, of exhaustion, and everything was at rest. A candle standing
among a crowd of bottles, boxes, and pots on a stool and a big lamp
on the chest of drawers threw a brilliant light over all the room.
On the bed under the window lay a boy with open eyes and a look of
wonder on his face. He did not move, but his open eyes seemed every
moment growing darker and sinking further into his head. The mother
was kneeling by the bed with her arms on his body and her head
hidden in the bedclothes. Like the child, she did not stir; but
what throbbing life was suggested in the curves of her body and in
her arms! She leaned against the bed with all her being, pressing
against it greedily with all her might, as though she were afraid