softly, bending over his wife to give her a kiss. But she moaned
right into his face:

"I'll not survive this."

Her lips were gray and cold, and when he touched them with his
own he understood that death was already within her.

"Oh, Lord!" he uttered, in an alarmed whisper, feeling that
fright was choking his throat and suppressing his breath.

"Natasha? What will become of him? He must be nursed! What is the
matter with you?"

He almost began to cry at his wife. The midwife was bustling
about him; shaking the crying child in the air. She spoke to him
reassuringly, but he heard nothing--he could not turn his eyes
away from the frightful face of his wife. Her lips were moving,
and he heard words spoken in a low voice, but could not
understand them. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he spoke in a
dull and timid voice: "Just think of it! He cannot do without
you; he's an infant! Gather strength! Drive this thought away
from you! Drive it away."

He talked, yet he understood he was speaking useless words. Tears
welled up within him, and in his breast there came a feeling
heavy as stone and cold as ice.

"Forgive me. Goodbye! Take care. Look out. Don't drink,"
whispered Natalya, soundlessly.