she was conscious of intense weariness, laid her head down on the
pillow, whispered 'poor Andrei Petrovitch!' and at once fell asleep
with wet eheeks and eyelashes. It was long since she had slept or
wept.




XXVII


Bersenyev's words turned out only partly true; the danger was over,
but Insarov gained strength slowly, and the doctor talked of a
complete undermining of the whole system. The patient left his bed for
all that, and began to walk about the room; Bersenyev went home to
his own lodging, but he came every day to his still feeble friend;
and every day as before he informed Elena of the state of his health.
Insarov did not dare to write to her, and only indirectly in his
conversations with Bersenyev referred to her; but Bersenyev, with
assumed carelessness, told him about his visits to the Stahovs,
trying, however, to give him to understand that Elena had been deeply
distressed, and that now she was calmer. Elena too did not write to
Insarov; she had a plan in her head.

One day Bersenyev had just informed her with a cheerful face that the
doctor had already allowed Insarov to eat a cutlet, and that he
would probably soon go out; she seemed absorbed, dropped her eyes.

'Guess, what I want to say to you,' she said. Bersenyev was confused.
He understood her.