'Of course; yes.'

Alexandra Pavlovna went into the hut. It was narrow, stifling, and
smoky inside. Some one stirred and began to moan on the stove which
formed the bed. Alexandra Pavlovna looked round and discerned in the
half darkness the yellow wrinkled face of the old woman tied up in a
checked handkerchief. Covered to the very throat with a heavy overcoat
she was breathing with difficulty, and her wasted hands were
twitching.

Alexandra Pavlovna went close up to the old woman and laid her fingers
on her forehead; it was burning hot.

'How do you feel, Matrona?' she inquired, bending over the bed.

'Oh, oh!' groaned the old woman, trying to make her out, 'bad, very
bad, my dear! My last hour has come, my darling!'

'God is merciful, Matrona; perhaps you will be better soon. Did you
take the medicine I sent you?'

The old woman groaned painfully, and did not answer. She had hardly
heard the question.

'She has taken it,' said the old man who was standing at the door.

Alexandra Pavlovna turned to him.

'Is there no one with her but you?' she inquired.