"Oh, not so badly off!" answered Dr. März absentmindedly.
Michael Petroff laughed softly behind his back. Then he went at once to the lawyer's room.
"The 'Rajah' is dying!" he said with a triumphant glance.
The lawyer looked up at him timidly; he did not answer.
"Yes!" Michael Petroff sat down in a cane-seated chair, and drew up his trousers a little, so as not to get them out of shape at the knees. "I asked the Doctor just now. He answered: 'Not so badly off.' Now that means that the 'Rajah' is dying. When Heinrich was dying, Heinrich who used to sing the jolly songs that you laughed at so, my friend, what did the Doctor say? 'Not so badly off!' And Heinrich died. Oh yes! I understand the doctors."
The little lawyer wrapped himself in his shawl. He was freezing.
"He is sucking the soul out of his body," continued Michael Petroff with an important air. "He understands his business, Engelhardt does. How did he manage with Schwindt, the attendant? The very same way, don't you see!"
And Michael Petroff left the room, rubbing his hands cheerfully. He was interested in everything that went on around him, in everything that he saw through. There was news—! In the best of spirits, he sat down at his writing table to give the final touches to his article: "Doctor März arrested."
That very night, toward three o'clock, the "Rajah" died. It was a warm, still night and the moonlight was so bright that one could read out of doors. The patients were restless, they cleared their throats, walked up and down and talked together. But once in a while they would all be silent: that was when Engelhardt began to scream out. "I can't bear it any longer!" And then he would declaim aloud the petitions that kings and princes addressed to him on their knees.
The little lawyer had not dared to go to bed. He sat fully dressed on the sofa, with all his blankets wrapped around him. And yet he was so cold that his teeth chattered. Whenever Engelhardt began to cry out, he moved his lips in prayer and crossed himself.