Towards nightfall, however, fever supervened, and his head began to ache; with the result that when the doctor arrived from the town (Nikolai Petrovitch had disobeyed his brother in this respect, and Bazarov also had consented to his doing so, in that, after paying the patient a single visit, and that a very brief one, and being put to the mortification of having to avoid Thenichka on two occasions when he met her, he had felt that he preferred to spend the rest of the day in loneliness, bitterness, and rancour)—when the doctor arrived from the town he advised a cooling draught, but at the same time confirmed Bazarov's opinion that no danger was to be apprehended. In passing, it may also be mentioned that, on being informed by Nikolai Petrovitch that Paul Petrovitch's wound had been self-inflicted through an accident, the said doctor replied "H'm!"; to which, on receiving into his hand a fee of twenty-five roubles, he added that of course things of the kind often occurred.
No one in the house, that night, retired to bed, or even undressed, but at intervals Nikolai Petrovitch would tiptoe into his brother's room, and as silently withdraw. At intervals, too, Paul Petrovitch would awake from a doze, sigh faintly, and say to Nikolai either "Couchez-vous" or "Please give me a drink." But once it happened that Nikolai sent the invalid a glass of lemonade by the hand of Thenichka; and this time Paul Petrovitch scanned her long and searchingly before draining the tumbler to the dregs. Towards morning the fever increased a little, and a trace of lightheadedness made its appearance which for a while caused the patient only to utter disconnected words. But suddenly he opened his eyes, and, on seeing his brother bending solicitously over the bed, murmured:
"Nikolai, do not you think that Thenichka slightly resembles Nelly?"
"What Nelly, Paul? Who is Nelly?"
"How can you ask? The Princess R., of course. In the upper portion of the face especially Thenichka resembles her. C'est de la même famille."
Nikolai Petrovitch made no reply. He could only remain lost in wonder that bygone fancies could so survive in the human consciousness.
"That this should have cropped up again!" he reflected.
On another occasion Paul Petrovitch muttered as he clasped his hands behind his head: "How I love this idle existence!" And again, a few minutes later, he whispered: "I will not allow a single rascal to touch me!"
Nikolai Petrovitch sighed. To whom the words referred he had not a notion.
At eight o'clock next morning Bazarov entered Nikolai's room. His stock of insects, birds, and frogs had either been packed up or liberated.