The other figure which followed some minutes later was that of Wanda Waluiski.
A few minutes later a lad, son of the dvornik at Ivan’s lodging, brought him some letters, being accompanied by his sister, a bright little girl of ten. The student complimented the child on the way she was dressed, patted her upon the cheek, and gave her some grapes, rewarding the lad with a few kopecks. Then the girl laughed pleasantly, displaying an even row of white teeth, afterwards making a dignified little bow, and turning away with her brother.
They had scarcely gone when we were startled by a terrible cry.
Turning quickly, we saw that Ivan had risen from his chair, his face flushed and distorted. One hand grasped his wine-glass, while the other clutched convulsively at his throat, for he was choking.
Staggering a few uneven steps towards us, he stumbled. The glass fell from his nerveless fingers, and was shattered. We sat speechless in surprise and alarm.
His face became blanched in a moment, and he passed his hand across his agonised brow.
“Ah!—Heaven!” he gasped with great effort. “You fellows—my wine!—can’t you see?—I—I’m poisoned!”
With one accord we sprang to our feet and rushed towards him, but before we could stretch forth our hands he had staggered forward with a loud cry and fallen heavily upon the gravel.
Our endeavours to raise him were useless.
“Let me alone!” he shouted hoarsely. “The poison—was put into my glass—through the trellis! You cannot save me. Ah! I—I’m dying! The cowards have killed me!”