“Perhaps he might wish to see some one,” added Dubova, as if relieved.
“Come on! We’ll go!” said Sina with decision.
“Schafroff and Novikoff are there,” added Dubova, as if to justify herself.
Sina ran indoors to fetch her hat and coat, and then they went sadly through the town to the large, grey, three-storied building, the hospital where Semenoff lay dying.
The long, vaulted passages were dark, and smelt strongly of iodoform and carbolic. As they passed the section for the insane, they heard a strident, angry voice, but no one was visible. They felt scared, and anxiously hastened towards a dark little window. An old, grey-haired peasant, with a long white beard and wearing a large apron came clattering along the passage in his heavy top-boots to meet them.
“Who is it that you wish to see?” he asked, stopping short.
“A student has been brought here—Semenoff—to-day!” stammered Dubova.
“No. 6, please, upstairs,” said the attendant, and passed on. They could hear him spit noisily on the flooring and then wipe it with his foot. Upstairs it was brighter and cleaner; and the ceiling was not vaulted. A door with “Doctors’ Room” inscribed on it stood ajar. A lamp was burning in this room where a jingling of bottles and glasses could be heard. Yourii looked inside, and called out. The jingling ceased, and Riasantzeff appeared, looking fresh and hearty, as usual.
“Ah!” he exclaimed in a cheery voice, being evidently accustomed to events such as that which saddened his visitors. “I am on duty to-day. How do you do, ladies?” Yet, frowning suddenly, he added with grave significance, “He seems to be still unconscious. Let us go to him. Novikoff and the others are there.”
As they walked in single file along the clean, bare passage, past big white doors with black numbers on them, Riasantzeff said: