towards it.

Semyon followed me. Within a few minutes something tall and broad
loomed in the fog.

"The copse! here is the copse!" Semyon cried, delighted. "Yes,
here ... and there is the master sitting under the birch-tree....
There he is, sitting where I left him. That's he, surely enough!"

I looked intently. A man really was sitting with his back towards us,
awkwardly huddled up under the birch-tree. I hurriedly approached and
recognised Tyeglev's great-coat, recognised his figure, his head bowed
on his breast. "Tyeglev!" I cried ... but he did not answer.

"Tyeglev!" I repeated, and laid my hand on his shoulder. Then he
suddenly lurched forward, quickly and obediently, as though he were
waiting for my touch, and fell onto the grass. Semyon and I raised him
at once and turned him face upwards. It was not pale, but was lifeless
and motionless; his clenched teeth gleamed white--and his eyes,
motionless, too, and wide open, kept their habitual, drowsy and
"different" look.

"Good God!" Semyon said suddenly and showed me his hand stained
crimson with blood.... The blood was coming from under Tyeglev's
great-coat, from the left side of his chest.

He had shot himself from a small, single-barreled pistol which was
lying beside him. The faint pop I had heard was the sound made by the
fatal shot.