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 sandrovitch rang the bell; the Swiss Petrof, known as Kapitonuitch, presented a strange appearance, dressed in an old coat and slippers without any cravat.

"How is the baruinya?"

"In the night there was a change for the better."

Alekseï Aleksandrovitch stopped short and turned very pale; he now realized how deeply he had hoped for her death.

"And how is she?"

Karnei, the servant in morning dress, came quickly down the stairs.

"Very low," he said. "There was a consultation yesterday, and the doctor is here now."

"Take my things," said Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, a little comforted to learn that there was still hope of death; and he went into the reception-room.

A uniform overcoat hung in the hall. Alekseï Aleksandrovitch noticed it, and asked:—

"Who is here?"

"The doctor, the nurse, and Count Vronsky."

Alekseï Aleksandrovitch went through the inner rooms. There was no one in the drawing-room; but the sound of his steps brought the nurse, in a cap with lilac ribbons, out of the boudoir.

She came to Alekseï Aleksandrovitch, and, taking him by the hand, with the familiarity that the approach of death permits, led him into the sleeping-room.

"Thank the Lord that you have come! She talks of nothing but you; always of you," she said.

"Bring some ice quick!" said the imperative voice of the doctor from the chamber.

Alekseï Aleksandrovitch went into her boudoir. On a little low chair by her table, sat Vronsky weeping, his face covered with his hands. He started at the sound of the doctor's voice, uncovered his face, and saw Alekseï Aleksandrovitch. The sight of the husband disturbed him so much that he sat back in his chair, crouching his head down between his shoulders as if he wanted to disappear out of sight; then, making a great effort, he rose and said:—