Augustinovich took his seat in the armchair in silence and meditated deeply; soon his head began to weigh on him, his lids became leaden, an invincible drowsiness seized him with increasing force, his head dropped on his breast, he nodded to the right, to the left, and fell asleep.
After a while he woke again.
"Is he sleeping?" inquired he, looking at Yosef.
"He is sleeping, but unquietly," answered Helena.
Augustinovich again dropped his head. Suddenly a shriek from Helena roused him.
The sick man was sitting up in bed in a paroxysm of malignant fever; his face was burning, his eyes glittering like those of a wolf; his emaciated hand was extended toward Helena.
"What is this!" cried Augustinovich.
Helena seized him convulsively by the hands; she felt that his whole body trembled.
"Do not torture me!" whispered the sick man, with a hoarse, broken voice. "Thou hast killed Gustav, and now thou wouldst kill me. Away! I do not love thee! Be off!"
Again he fell on the bed.