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Updated: May 6, 2025
Ivan remained standing a little way beyond the threshold till Pavaniev entered and passed him, and the sister looked around. Then, for an instant, the wailing ceased, and was replaced by a high, wavering, querulous voice, that none would have dreamed of as belonging to Michael Gregoriev. "He is come? Ivan? Bring him to me!" Only then did the other doctor turn and perceive the new-comer.
Fröl Pavaniev strove in no way to make them appear better. It was a peculiar form of flattery, but one heretofore used with excellent effect. Ivan, however, failed to appreciate it; and presently pushed past the pessimist, flung open the bedroom door, and paused. A sound had reached his ears that struck him to the heart: a high, feeble, gasping wail, that was repeated again and again.
It was afternoon before the young man reascended to the antechamber, where Pavaniev greeted him with the report: "Great exhaustion, lapsing from semi to total unconsciousness." Any attempt at rousing might possibly prove fatal. Was there any message? No? Then one could but wait. These things were, indeed, most trying.
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