The Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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      CHAPTER VIII

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       I GOT UP VERY EARLY. I had waked up almost every half hour through the night, and gone up to look intently at my poor little visitor. She was in a fever and slightly delirious. But towards morning she fell into a sound sleep. A good sign, I thought, but when I waked in the morning I decided to run for the doctor’ while the poor little thing was still asleep. I knew a doctor, a very goodnatured old bachelor, who with his German housekeeper had lived in Vladimirsky Street from time immemorial. I set off to him. He promised to be with me at ten o’clock. It was eight when I reached him. I felt much inclined to call in at Masloboev’s on the way, but I thought better of it. He was sure not to be awake yet after yesterday; besides, Elena might wake up and be frightened at finding herself alone in my room. In her feverish state she might well forget how and when she had come there.

      She waked up at the moment when I went into the room. I went up to her and cautiously asked her how she felt. She did not answer, but bent a long, long, intent look upon me with her expressive black eyes. I thought from the look in her eyes that she was fully conscious and understood what had happened. Her not answering me perhaps was just her invariable habit. Both on the previous day and on the day before that when she had come to see me she had not uttered a word in answer to some of my questions, but had only looked into my face with her slow, persistent stare, in which there was a strange pride as well as wonder and wild curiosity. Now I noticed a severity, even a sort of mistrustfulness in her eyes. I was putting my hand on her forehead to feel whether she were still feverish, but quietly, without a word, she put back my hand with her little one and turned away from me to the wall. I walked away that I might not worry her.

      I had a big copper kettle. I had long used it instead of a samovar, for boiling water. I had wood, the porter had brought me up enough to last for five days. I lighted the stove, fetched some water and put the tea-pot on. I laid the tea-things on the table. Elena turned towards me and watched it all with curiosity. I asked her whether she would not have something. But again she turned away from me and made no answer.

      “Why is she angry with me?” I wondered. “Queer little girl!”

      My old doctor came at ten o’clock as he had promised. He examined the patient with German thoroughness, and greatly cheered me by saying that though she was feverish there was no special danger. He added that she probably had another chronic disease, some irregularity in the action of the heart, “but that point would want special watching, for now she’s out of danger.” More from habit than necessity he prescribed her a mixture and some powders, and at once proceeded to ask me how she came to be with me. At the same time he looked about my room wanderingly. The old man was an awful chatterbox. He was struck with Elena. She pulled her hand away when he tried to feel her pulse, and would not show him her tongue; to all his questions she did not answer one word. All the while she stared intently at the enormous Stanislav Order that hung upon his neck.

      “Most likely her head is aching badly,” said the old man, but how she does stare!”

      I did not think it necessary to tell him all about Elena, so I put him off, saying it was a long story.

      “Let me know if there’s any need,” said he as he went away “But at present there’s no danger.”

      I made up my mind to stay all day with Elena, and to leave her alone as rarely as possible till she was quite well. But knowing that Natasha and Anna Andreyevna would be worried if they expected me in vain, I decided to let Natasha know by post that I could not be with her that day. I could not write to Anna Andreyevna. She had asked me herself once for all not to send her letters, after I had once sent her news when Natasha was ill.

      “My old man scowls when he sees a letter from you,” she said. “He wants to know, poor dear, what’s in the letter, and he can’t ask, he can’t bring himself to. And so he’s upset for the whole day. And besides, my dear, you only tantalize me with letters. What’s the use of a dozen lines? One wants to ask the details and you’re not there.” And so I wrote only to Natasha, and when I took the prescription to the chemist’s I posted the letter.

      Meanwhile Elena fell asleep again. She moaned faintly and started in her sleep. The doctor had guessed right, she had a bad headache. From time to time she cried out and woke up. She looked at me with positive vexation, as though my attention was particularly irksome. I must confess this wounded me.

      At eleven o’clock Masloboev turned up. He was preoccupied and seemed absentminded; he only came in for a minute, and was in a great hurry to get away.

      “Well, brother, I didn’t expect that you lived in great style, he observed, looking round, “but I didn’t think I should find you in such a box. This is a box, not a lodging. But that’s nothing though what does matter is that all these outside worries take you off your work. I thought of that yesterday when we were driving to Bubnov’s. By natural temperament, brother, and by social position I’m one of those people who СКАЧАТЬ