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 At the apothecary's, the lean clerk, with the same indifference as the lackey cleaning the lamp-chimneys had shown, put a seal on the powders for the waiting coachman, and refused to deliver the opium. Striving not to get impatient or angry, and mentioning the doctor and midwife by name, and telling what it was needed for, Levin pleaded with him. The clerk asked his employer in German if it should be permitted, and, receiving a favorable reply from behind the screen, he proceeded to get out a bottle and a funnel, and slowly poured the liquid from it into a smaller vial, pasted on a label, sealed it, and in spite of Levin's urgency not to do so, was even going to wrap it up. This Levin could not endure; he resolutely snatched the vial out of the clerk's hands, and rushed through the great glass doors.

The doctor was still asleep; and, this time, the servant was shaking the rugs.

Levin, leisurely getting from his pocket a ten-ruble note, and dwelling on his words, but not wasting time, gave him the money, and explained that Piotr Dmitrievitch—how great and significant now seemed this hitherto unimportant Piotr Dmitrievitch—had promised him to be on hand at any time, so that he would certainly not be angry, and that, therefore, he must instantly awaken him.

The lackey consented, and went up-stairs and showed Levin into the reception-room.

Levin could hear in the next room how the doctor coughed, walked about, washed his face and hands, and made some remark.

Three minutes passed; it seemed to Levin that it was more than an hour. He could no longer contain himself.

"Piotr Dmitrievitch! Piotr Dmitrievitch!" he cried, through the opened door, in a beseeching voice. "For God's sake, forgive me. Let me come in just as you are. It has been more than two hours now."

"I'll be out immediately," replied a voice, and Levin to his surprise knew by the sound of the doctor's voice that he was smiling as he spoke.