puzzled and biding his time. Elena did not even thank Bersenyev; there
are services for which thanks are cruel and shameful. Only once at her
fourth interview with him--Insarov had passed a very bad night, the
doctor had hinted at a consultation--only then she reminded him of
his promise. 'Very well, then let us go,' he said to her. She got up
and was going to get ready. 'No,' he decided, 'let us wait till
to-morrow.' Towards evening Insarov was rather better.

For eight days this torture was prolonged. Elena appeared calm; but
she could eat nothing, and did not sleep at night. There was a dull
ache in all her limbs; her head seemed full of a sort of dry burning
smoke. 'Our young lady's wasting like a candle,' her maid said of her.

At last by the ninth day the crisis was passing over. Elena was
sitting in the drawing-room near Anna Vassilyevna, and, without
knowing herself what she was doing, was reading her the _Moscow
Gazette_; Bersenyev came in. Elena glanced at him--how rapid, and
fearful, and penetrating, and tremulous, was the first glance she
turned on him every time--and at once she guessed that he brought good
news. He was smiling; he nodded slightly to her, she got up to go and
meet him.

'He has regained consciousness, he is saved, he will be quite well
again in a week,' he whispered to her.

Elena had stretched out her arm as though to ward off a blow, and she
said nothing, only her lips trembled and a flush of crimson overspread
her whole face. Bersenyev began to talk to Anna Vassilyevna, and Elena
went off to her own room, dropped on her knees and fell to praying, to
thanking God. Light, shining tears trickled down her cheeks. Suddenly