The captain was awake and on his feet in a moment. His strong will asserted itself at once, as usual. The fire had long since died out, and the pale light of dawn gleamed through the window.
“What about ... those ...” asked Markof, in a trembling voice.
“As you ordered, your honour, just this moment.”
“But the old man? The old man?”
“As well.”
The captain sank down upon the bed as if his strength had suddenly left him. The sergeant-major stood at attention beside him, awaiting orders.
“That’s it, brother,” said the captain in a feeble voice. “You must take the command in my place. I will send in my papers to-day, for I ... I ... ’m absolutely tormented by this cursed fever.... And perhaps”—he tried to smile, but only distorted his features by the effort—“perhaps I may soon be entirely at rest.”
The sergeant-major saluted and answered calmly, as if nothing could surprise him,
“Yes, your honour.”