“No—wait. Oh, how my head aches! Listen, Georgi Alexievich. I see that something unusual has happened. If I could only collect my thoughts! What is it?”
Romashov looked at him with silent pity. Nasanski’s whole appearance had undergone a terrible change since the two friends had last seen each other. His eyes were sunken and surrounded by black rings; his temples had a yellow hue; the rough, wrinkled skin over his cheek-bones hung limply down, and was partly concealed by the sticky, wet tufts of hair that drooped.
“Nothing particular. I only wanted to see you. To-morrow I am to fight a duel with Nikoläiev, and I was loath to go home. But nothing matters now. Au revoir. You see—I had nobody else to talk to and my heart is heavy.”
Nasanski closed his eyes, and his features made a still more painful impression. It was evident that he had, by a really abnormal effort of will, tried to recover consciousness, and now, when he opened his eyes, a spark of keen understanding was at last visible in his glance.
“Well, well, I’ll tell you what we’ll do——” Nasanski turned on his side by an effort and raised himself on his elbow. “But first give me—out of the cupboard, you know—— No, let the apples be—there should be a few peppermint drops—thanks, my friend. I’ll tell you what we’ll do—— Faugh, how disgusting! Take me out into the fresh air. Here it’s intolerable. Always the same hideous hallucinations. Come with me; we’ll get a boat, then we can chat. Will you?”
With a stern face, and an expression of utter loathing on his countenance, he drained glass after glass. Romashov observed Nasanski’s ashy complexion gradually assume a deeper hue, and his beautiful blue eyes regain life and brilliancy.
When they reached the street they took a fly and drove to the river flowing past the very outskirts of the town, which there swells out to a dam, on one side of which stood a mill driven by turbines, an enormous red building belonging to a Jew. On the other shore stood a few bathing-houses, and there, too, boats might be hired. Romashov sat by the oars, and Nasanski assumed a half-recumbent position in the stern.
The river was very broad here, the stream weak, the banks low and overgrown with long, juicy grass that hung down over the water, and out of it rose tall green reeds and masses of big, white water-lilies.
Romashov related the particulars of his fight with Nikoläiev. Nasanski listened abstractedly and gazed down at the river, which in lazy, sluggish eddies flowed away like molten glass in the wake of the boat.
“Tell me candidly, Romashov, have you any fear?” asked Nasanski, in a low voice.