He had the oppressive consciousness of his own helplessness when face to face with death. How much trouble and care he had lavished on poor little Tschischik, and how anxious the doctors had been to cure the lad!... But in spite of it all he had to die!... It all seemed so unjust!... He himself also, Grigori Orloff, would have some day to pack up his traps in the same way, leaving nothing behind. Then all would be over. A shudder ran through him, and he immediately experienced a feeling of loneliness, of being forsaken. He felt the need of talking to some understanding person about it all. He had often tried to get a long talk with one of the students, but no one here had time to philosophize. So there was nothing for it but to talk to his wife. In a heavy, oppressed mood he sought out Matrona.
She was just off duty, and was washing herself in a corner of the room. The samovar stood ready, simmering and steaming on the table.
Grigori sat down in silence, and looked at Matrona's bared, round shoulders. The samovar boiled up, and spurted drops of hot steam around. Matrona also splashed the water about with her washing. In the corridor outside, the attendants' footsteps could be heard hurrying backwards and forwards, and Grigori tried to guess, from the sound of the steps, who was passing. Suddenly it seemed to him as if Matrona's shoulders were as cold and as damp with perspiration as was the body of the little Tschischik, as he tossed about on his bed in the agony of cholera cramps.
Grigori shuddered, and said in a low voice—
"Senka is dead...."
"Dead!... Senka dead? God rest his soul!" exclaimed Matrona piously, scarcely pausing in her noisy ablutions, and spluttering the soapsuds from mouth and nose.
"I feel sorry for the poor child," said Grigori in a sad voice.
"But he was a mischievous lad, though," Matrona interjected.
"Well, leave him in peace now he is dead and gone! It's not our business what he was when alive.... I am truly sorry he is dead! He was such a quick, bright boy! The accordion ... hm! He was indeed a sharp lad! Sometimes the thought used to cross my mind that I should like to have him to teach,—not exactly as an apprentice. He was an orphan, he might have got attached to us, and have taken the place of a son.... I fear we shall never have children!... I don't understand why. Such a strong, hearty woman as you are, and yet you bear no children.... You had one, and there was an end of it!... Ah! if we only had a couple of little squallers, I believe our life would not be so tedious.... As things are, I work and work, and what is the end of it all? Just to provide daily bread for you and me!... And why do we need daily bread? So that we may be able to work.... And so life goes round in a circle without sense or meaning. . If we only had children they would change our life entirely ... yes, entirely..."
All this was said in a fretful, dissatisfied tone of voice, his head sunk on his breast Matrona stood listening to all he had to say; but growing gradually paler and paler.