That night Bazarov did not improve, for he was racked with high fever; but as morning approached, the fever grew a little easier, and after he had asked Arina Vlasievna to perform his toilet, and had kissed her hand, he managed to swallow a little tea: which circumstance caused Vasili Ivanitch to pluck up courage, and to exclaim:
"Thank God, the crisis has both come and gone!"
"Do not be too sure of that," rejoined Bazarov. "For what does the term 'crisis' signify? Some one once invented it, shouted 'Crisis!' and congratulated himself ever after. Extraordinary how the human race continues to attach credence to mere words! For example, tell a man that he is a fool, yet refrain from assaulting him, and he will be downcast; but tell him that he is a man of wisdom, yet give him no money, and he will be overjoyed."
So reminiscent of Bazarov's former sallies was this little speech that Vasili Ivanitch's heart fairly overflowed.
"Bravo!" he cried, clapping his hands in dumb show. "Well said!"
Bazarov smiled a sad smile.
"Then you think," said he, "that the 'crisis' is either approaching or retiring?"
"I know that you are better. That I can see for myself. And the fact rejoices me."
"Well, it is not always a bad thing to rejoice. But have you sent word to, to—to her? You know whom I mean?"
"Of course I have, Evgenii."