“‘Is it for good you have decided to give it up, Emelian, or only for to-day?’
“He did not reply, and after a while I saw him lean his head on his hand, and I asked him: ‘Are you not feeling well, Emelian?’
“‘Yes, pretty well, Astafi Ivanich.’
“I made him go to bed, and saw that he was truly in a bad way. His head was burning hot and he was shivering with ague. I sat by him the whole day; toward evening he grew worse. I prepared a meal for him of kvass, butter, and some onion, and threw in it a few bits of bread, and said to him: ‘Go ahead and take some food; maybe you will feel better!’
“But he only shook his head: ‘No, Astafi Ivanich, I shall not have any dinner to-day.’
“I had some tea prepared for him, giving a lot of trouble to the poor old woman from whom I rented a part of the room—but he would not take even a little tea.
“Well, I thought to myself, it is a bad case. On the third morning I went to see the doctor, an acquaintance of mine, Dr. Kostopravov, who had treated me when I still lived in my last place. The doctor came, examined the poor fellow, and only said: ‘There was no need of sending for me, he is already too far gone, but you can give him some powders which I will prescribe.’
“Well, I didn’t give him the powders at all, as I understood that the doctor was only doing it for form’s sake; and in the mean while came the fifth day.
“He lay dying before me, sir. I sat on the window-seat with some work I had on hand lying on my lap. The old woman was raking the stove. We were all silent, and my heart was breaking over this poor, shiftless creature, as if he were my own son whom I was losing. I knew that Emelian was gazing at me all the time; I noticed from the earliest morning that he longed to tell me something, but seemingly dared not. At last I looked at him, and saw that he did not take his eyes from me, but that whenever his eyes met mine, he immediately lowered his own.
“‘Astafi Ivanich!’