In half an hour the agony was passed, but the sick man was so completely knocked up that, in spite of Pavel's repeated entreaties to be allowed to apply “just one more plate,” he could bear no more. His eyes were drooping from weakness.
“Sleep—sleep,” he muttered faintly.
“Very well,” consented Pavel, “go to sleep.”
“Are you spending the night here? What time is it?”
“Nearly two.”
“You must sleep here.”
“Yes, yes—all right. I will.”
A moment after the sick man called to Pavel again.
“You—you—” muttered the former faintly, as Pavel ran up and bent over him, “you are better than I am. I understand all—all—thank you!”
“Go to sleep!” whispered Pavel Pavlovitch, as he crept back to his divan on tip-toes.