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In the delirium that preceded his death, Aratov spoke of himself as Romeo ... after the poison; spoke of marriage, completed and perfect; of his knowing now what rapture meant. Most terrible of all for Platosha was the minute when Aratov, coming a little to himself, and seeing her beside his bed, said to her, 'Aunt, what are you crying for? because I must die?
And Platósha liked Kupfer; she sometimes thought him too unceremonious, it is true; but instinctively feeling and understanding that he was sincerely attached to her beloved Yásha, she not only tolerated the noisy visitor, but even felt a kindness for him.
Platosha almost had a fit when he informed her of his intention. She positively sat down on the ground ... her legs gave way beneath her. 'To Kazan? why to Kazan? she murmured, her dim eyes round with astonishment. She would not have been more surprised if she had been told that her Yasha was going to marry the baker woman next door, or was starting for America.
At dinner Aratov talked a great deal with Platosha, questioned her about the old days, which she remembered, but described very badly, as she had so few words at her command, and except her dear Yasha, had scarcely ever noticed anything in her life.
And this time she was gazing straight at him, she moved toward him.... On her head was a wreath of red roses.... It kept undulating, rising.... Before him stood his aunt in her nightcap, with a broad red ribbon, and in a white wrapper. "Platósha!" he enunciated with difficulty. "Is it you?" "It is I," replied Platonída Ivánovna.... "It is I, Yashyónotchek, it is I." "Why have you come?"
And too, he thought, in Mitskevitch: 'I will love thee to the end of time ... and beyond it! And an English writer had said: 'Love is stronger than death. The text from Scripture produced particular effect on Aratov.... He tried to find the place where the words occurred.... He had no Bible; he went to ask Platosha for one.
Nothing to be seen, not a sound to be heard.... He looked round him, and noticed that the faint light that filled the room came from a night-light, shaded by a sheet of paper and set in a corner, probably by Platosha while he was asleep. He even discerned the smell of incense ... also, most likely, the work of her hands.
Platosha herself noticed, not a change exactly in Yasha's temper no change in reality took place in it but something unsatisfactory in his looks and in his words.
The rising sun illuminated his room; but the light of day did not disperse the shades of night which weighed upon him, did not alter his decision. Platósha came near having an apoplectic stroke when he communicated his decision to her. She even squatted down on her heels ... her legs gave way under her. "To Kazán?
I know what I am about, I am free to do as I please! I will not permit any one.... Give me money for the journey; prepare a trunk with linen and clothing ... and do not bother me! I shall return at the end of a week, Platósha," he added, in a softer tone. Platósha rose to her feet, grunting, and, making no further opposition, wended her way to her chamber. Yásha had frightened her.
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