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Updated: June 1, 2025
Only about her lips, when she was not smiling, a scarcely perceptible line showed the presence of a hidden constant anxiety. In Insarov's face, on the contrary, the expression had remained the same, but his features had undergone a cruel change. He had grown thin, old, pale and bent; he was constantly coughing a short dry cough, and his sunken eyes shone with a strange brilliance.
Shubin heard of Insarov's critical position, and made inquiries after him. His compatriots Bulgarians came; among them Bersenyev recognised the two strange figures, who had puzzled him by their unexpected visit to the cottage; they all showed genuine sympathy, some offered to take Bersenyev's place by the patient's bed-side; but he would not consent to that, remembering his promise to Elena.
Long and wearisome seemed the journey from Moscow to Kuntsovo; all the party were asleep or silent, leaning with their heads pressed into their respective corners; Elena did not close her eyes; she kept them fixed on Insarov's dimly-outlined figure.
Tears choked her voice. She opened her arms, and Elena and Insarov flung themselves into her embrace. The fatal day had come at last. It had been arranged that Elena should say good-bye to her parents at home, and should start on the journey from Insarov's lodgings. The departure was fixed for twelve o'clock. About a quarter of an hour before the appointed time Bersenyev arrived.
Insarov's heart throbbed eagerly; his hopes too were being realised. 'But is it not too soon, will it not be in vain? he thought, tightly clasping his hands. 'We are not ready, but so be it! I must go. Something rustled lightly at the door, it flew quickly open, and into the room ran Elena.
Insarov's very tranquillity embarrassed her; it seemed to her that she had not the right to force him to speak out; and she resolved to wait; for all that, she felt that at every visit however trivial might be the words that passed between them, he attracted her more and more; but she never happened to be left alone with him and to grow intimate with any one, one must have at least one conversation alone with him.
'There's some one here looks like a locksmith or something of the sort, Bersenyev was informed the following evening by his servant, who was distinguished by a severe deportment and sceptical turn of mind towards his master; 'he wants to see you. 'Ask him in, said Bersenyev. The 'locksmith' entered. Bersenyev recognised in him the tailor, the landlord of Insarov's lodgings.
Soon Bersenyev arrived, and gave Insarov's respects to Anna Vassilyevna with an apology for having gone back to Moscow without calling to take leave of her. Insarov's name was for the first time during the day pronounced before Elena.
He shut in Insarov's bed with screens, and arranged a little place for himself by the sofa. The day passed slowly and drearily. Bersenyev did not leave the room except to get his dinner. The evening came. He lighted a candle with a shade, and settled down to a book. Everything was still around.
Elena looked at him, said: 'Oh, my good, kind friend! broke into sobs and rushed away. Bersenyev leaned against the door. A feeling of sorrow and bitterness, not without a kind of strange consolation, overcame him. 'My good, kind friend! he thought and shrugged his shoulders. 'Who is here? he heard Insarov's voice. Bersenyev went up to him. 'I am here, Dmitri Nikanorovitch. How are you?
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