But a darkness had already descended upon him. Tatiana bent over and noticed blood....
“Pavel!” she shouted at the top of her voice, “Pavel!”
A minute or two later, Mariana, Solomin, Pavel, and two workmen were in the garden. They lifted him instantly, carried him into the house, and laid him on the same couch on which he had passed his last night.
He lay on his back with half-closed eyes, his face blue all over. There was a rattling in his throat, and every now and again he gave a choking sob. Life had not yet left him. Mariana and Solomin were standing on either side of him, almost as pale as he was himself. They both felt crushed, stunned, especially Mariana—but they were not surprised. “How did we not foresee this?” they asked themselves, but it seemed to them that they had foreseen it all along. When he said to Mariana, “Whatever I do, I tell you beforehand, nothing will really surprise you,” and when he had spoken of the two men in him that would not let each other live, had she not felt a kind of vague presentiment? Then why had she ignored it? Why was it she did not now dare to look at Solomin, as though he were her accomplice ... as though he, too, were conscience-stricken? Why was it that her unutterable, despairing pity for Nejdanov was mixed with a feeling of horror, dread, and shame? Perhaps she could have saved him? Why are they both standing there, not daring to pronounce a word, hardly daring to breathe—waiting ... for what? Oh, God!
Solomin sent for a doctor, though there was no hope. Tatiana bathed Nejdanov’s head with cold water and vinegar and laid a cold sponge on the small, dark wound, now free from blood. Suddenly the rattling in Nejdanov’s throat ceased and he stirred a little.
“He is coming to himself,” Solomin whispered.
Mariana dropped down on her knees before him. Nejdanov glanced at her ... up until then his eyes had borne that fixed, far-away look of the dying.
“I am ... still alive,” he pronounced scarcely audible. “I couldn’t even do this properly.... I am detaining ... you.”
“Aliosha!” Mariana sobbed out.
“It won’t ... be long.... Do you ... remember ... Mariana ... my poem?... Surround me with flowers.... But where ... are the ... flowers?... Never mind ... so long as you ... are here. There ... in ... my letter....”