His eyes stared and a shiver ran down his back.
'I'm sorry', said the apparition, gradually emerging from the shimmering fog of sleep and turning into a real live body. 'Perhaps you may not quite understand.
Look, this letter will explain it all.
Like a gentleman, I won't hide my shame from anyone.'
And with these words the stranger handed Nikolka the blue letter.
Feeling he had gone quite insane, Nikolka took it and moving his lips, began to read the large sprawling, agitated handwriting.
Undated, the letter on the thin sky-blue paper read thus:
'Lena darling, I know how good-hearted you are and I am sending him to you because you're one of the family.
I did send a telegram, but he'll tell you all about it himself, poor boy.
Lariosik has had a most terrible blow and for a long time Iwas afraid he wouldn't get over it.
You know he married Milochka Rubtsova a year ago. Well, she has turned out to be a snake in the grass!
Take him in I beg you, and look after him as only you can.
I will send you a regular allowance for his keep.
He has come to hate Zhitomir and I can quite understand why.
I won't write any more - I'm too upset. The hospital train is just leaving and he'll tell you all about it himself.
A big, big kiss for you and Seryozha.'
This was followed by an indecipherable signature.
'I brought the bird with me', said the stranger, sighing. 'A bird is man's best friend.
I know many people think they're a nuisance to keep, but all I can say is that at least a bird never does anyone any harm.'
Nikolka very much liked that last sentence.
Making no effort to understand it, he shyly scratched his forehead with the incomprehensible letter and slowly swung his legs down from the bed, thinking:
'I can't ask him his name ... it would sound so rude . . .
What an extraordinary thing to happen . . .'
'Is it a canary?' he asked.
'It certainly is', replied the stranger enthusiastically. 'Actually it's not a hen-canary as most of them are, but a real cock-canary.
I have fifteen of them at home in Zhitomir.
I took them to mother, so that she can look after them.
I'm sure that beast would wring their necks.
He hates birds.
May I put him down on your desk for a moment?'
'Please do', Nikolka replied. 'Are you from Zhitomir?'
'Yes, I am', answered the stranger. 'And wasn't it a coincidence - I arrived here at the same time as your brother.'
'What brother?'
'What d'you mean - what brother?
Your brother arrived here as I did', the stranger replied with astonishment.
'But what brother?' Nikolka exclaimed miserably. 'What brother?
From Zhitomir!'
'Your elder brother . . .'
Elena's voice came piercingly from the drawing-room:
'Nikolka!
Nikolka!
Illarion - please!
Wake him up!'
'Tweet, tweet, tweee-ee, tik, tik, tikki', screeched the bird.
Nikolka dropped the blue letter and shot like a bullet through the library and dining-room into the drawing-room, where he stopped in horror, his arms spread wide.
Wearing another man's black overcoat with a torn lining and a pair of strange black trousers Alexei Turbin lay motionless on the divan below the clock.
His face was pale, with a bluish pallor, and his teeth were clenched.
Elena was fussing around him, her dressing-gown untied and showing her black stockings and lace-trimmed underwear.
She was tugging at her brother's arms and at the buttons on his chest and shouting:
'Nik!