The mother's head was in a whirl with fatigue, and Nikolay's emotion aroused in her a sad premonition of the drama's end.
"So he's dying—he's dying!" The dark thought knocked at her brain heavily and dully.
But when she entered the bright, tidy little room of the hospital and saw Yegor sitting on the pallet propped against the wide bosom of the pillow, and heard him laugh with zest, she was at once relieved. She paused at the door, smiling, and listened to Yegor talk with the physician in a hoarse but lively voice.
"A cure is a reform."
"Don't talk nonsense!" the physician cried officiously in a thin voice.
"And I'm a revolutionist! I detest reforms!"
The physician, thoughtfully pulling his beard, felt the dropsical swelling on Yegor's face. The mother knew him well. He was Ivan Danilovich, one of the close comrades of Nikolay. She walked up to Yegor, who thrust forth his tongue by way of welcome to her. The physician turned around.
"Ah, Nilovna! How are you? Sit down. What have you in your hand?"
"It must be books."
"He mustn't read."