'Ah, brother, so you've become a practical person, eh?' he asked
suddenly, turning upon me such a clear, such a fully conscious glance,
that I could not help starting and was about to reply, but he went on
at once: 'But I, brother, have not become a practical person, I
haven't, and that's all about it! A dreamer I was born, a dreamer!
Dreaming, dreaming.... What is dreaming? Sobakevitch's peasant--that's
dreaming. Ugh!...'

Almost till morning Pasinkov wandered in delirium; at last he gradually
grew quieter, sank back on the pillow, and dozed off. I went back into
my room. Worn out by the cruel night, I slept soundly.

Elisei again waked me.

'Ah, sir!' he said in a shaking voice, 'I do believe Yakov Ivanitch is
dying....'

I ran in to Pasinkov. He was lying motionless. In the light of the
coming day he looked already a corpse. He recognised me.

'Good-bye,' he whispered; 'greet her for me, I'm dying....'

'Yasha!' I cried; 'nonsense! you are going to live....'

'No, no! I am dying.... Here, take this as a keepsake.' ... (He pointed
to his breast.) ...

'What's this?' he began suddenly; 'look: the sea ... all golden, and
blue isles upon it, marble temples, palm-trees, incense....'