"At first a hundred . . ." Nadyezhda Fyodorovna said to him, "then
another hundred . . ."

"You ought to take some quinine," he said, and thought, "To-morrow
is Wednesday; the steamer goes and I am not going in it. So I shall
have to go on living here till Saturday."

Nadyezhda Fyodorovna knelt up in bed.

"I didn't say anything just now, did I?" she asked, smiling and
screwing up her eyes at the light.

"No, nothing. We shall have to send for the doctor to-morrow morning.
Go to sleep."

He took his pillow and went to the door. Ever since he had finally
made up his mind to go away and leave Nadyezhda Fyodorovna, she had
begun to raise in him pity and a sense of guilt; he felt a little
ashamed in her presence, as though in the presence of a sick or old
horse whom one has decided to kill. He stopped in the doorway and
looked round at her.

"I was out of humour at the picnic and said something rude to you.
Forgive me, for God's sake!"

Saying this, he went off to his study, lay down, and for a long
while could not get to sleep.

Next morning when Samoylenko, attired, as it was a holiday, in
full-dress uniform with epaulettes on his shoulders and decorations