Chapter XI
BUT as soon as I came in again I felt my head going round and fell down in the middle of the room.
I remember nothing but Elena’s shriek. She clasped her hands and flew to support me.
That is the last moment that remains in my memory....
When I regained consciousness I found myself in bed.
Elena told me later on that, with the help of the porter who came in with some eatables, she had carried me to the sofa.
I woke up several times, and always saw Elena’s compassionate and anxious little face leaning over me.
But I remember all that as in a dream, as through a mist, and the sweet face of the poor child came to me in glimpses, through my stupor, like a vision, like a picture. She brought me something to drink, arranged my bedclothes, or sat looking at me with a distressed and frightened face, and smoothing my hair with her fingers.
Once I remember her gentle kiss on my face.
Another time, suddenly waking up in the night, by the light of the smouldering candle that had been set on a little table by my bedside I saw Elena lying with her face on my pillow with her warm cheek resting on her hand, and her pale lips half parted in an uneasy sleep.
But it was only early next morning that I fully regained consciousness.
The candle had completely burnt out. The vivid rosy beams of early sunrise were already playing on the wall.
Elena was sitting at the table, asleep, with her tired little head pillowed on her left arm, and I remember I gazed a long time at her childish face, full, even in sleep, of an unchildlike sadness and a sort of strange, sickly beauty. It was pale, with long arrowy eyelashes lying on the thin cheeks, and pitchblack hair that fell thick and heavy in a careless knot on one side.
Her other arm lay on my pillow.
Very softly I kissed that thin little arm. But the poor child did not wake, though there was a faint glimmer of a smile on her pale lips.
I went on gazing at her, and so quietly fell into a sound healing sleep.
This time I slept almost till midday.
When I woke up I felt almost well again.
A feeling of weakness and heaviness in my limbs was the only trace left of my illness, I had had such sudden nervous attacks before; I knew them very well.
The attack generally passed off within twentyfour hours, though the symptoms were acute and violent for that time.
It was nearly midday.
The first thing I saw was the curtain I had bought the day before, which was hanging on a string across the corner.
Elena had arranged it, screening off the corner as a separate room for herself.
She was sitting before the stove boiling the kettle.
Noticing that I was awake she smiled cheerfully and at once came up to me.
“My dear,” I said, taking her hand, “you’ve been looking after me all night.
I didn’t know you were so kind.”
“And how do you know I’ve been looking after you? Perhaps I’ve been asleep all night,” she said, looking at me with shy and goodhumoured slyness, and at the same time flushing shamefacedly at her own words.
“I woke up and saw you.
You only fell asleep at day break.”
“Would you like some tea?” she interrupted, as though feeling it difficult to continue the conversation, as all delicately modest and sternly truthful people are apt to when they are praised.
“I should,” I answered, “but did you have any dinner yesterday?”
“I had no dinner but I had some supper.
The porter brought it.
But don’t you talk. Lie still. You’re not quite well yet,” she added, bringing me some tea and sitting down on my bed.
“Lie still, indeed!
I will lie still, though, till it gets dark, and then I’m going out.
I really must, Lenotchka.”
“Oh, you must, must you!
Who is it you’re going to see?
Not the gentleman who was here yesterday?”
“No, I’m not going to him.”
“Well, I’m glad you’re not.
It was he upset you yesterday.
To his daughter then?”
“What do you know about his daughter?
“I heard all you said yesterday,” she answered, looking down.
Her face clouded over.
She frowned.
“He’s a horrid old man,” she added.