"Is—is he dead?" came in Peter's tremulous voice from behind.
Bazarov looked up.
"No," he said. "Run for a little water, and he will outlive us both."
Unfortunately the "perfect servant" did not understand what was said to him, but remained stock still. In fact, even when, the next moment, Paul Petrovitch opened his eyes Peter went on crossing himself and repeating: "He is dying!"
"Monsieur Bazarov," the wounded man said with a twisted smile, "you were perfectly in the right when you said that the face of that man was the face of a fool."
"It is so," agreed Bazarov. "Damn you, will you fetch some water!" (The latter to the valet.)
"There is no need," put in Paul Petrovitch. "It was only a passing vertigo. Kindly assist me to sit up. That is it. A scratch like this will require only to be bandaged for me to walk home again. There will be no necessity to have the drozhki sent. For that matter, the duel need not be renewed unless you wish it. At least to-day you have acted like a gentleman. Kindly note that I have said so."
"To the past we have no need to refer," said Bazarov. "And, as regards the future, it calls for equally little remark, seeing that I intend to leave here at once. Allow me to bind your leg. The wound is not dangerous, but one of a nature which will make it as well to have the blood staunched. But first I must restore that stuck pig to life."
Shaking Peter vigorously by the collar, he dispatched him in search of the drozhki.
"But see that you do not alarm my brother," was Paul Petrovitch's injunction also to the man. "You are not to breathe a word of what has happened."