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 "Just for one little minute."

"I'll be out immediately."

Two minutes more went by, while the doctor was putting on his boots, and another two minutes while he was brushing his hair and putting on his coat.

"Piotr Dmitrievitch," Levin was just saying once more; but at that instant the doctor came in, all ready dressed and with his hair brushed.

"These people have no hearts," thought Levin. "He can brush his hair, while we are dying."

"Good morning!" said the doctor, entering the reception-room serenely, and offering to shake hands. "Don't feel anxious. Well, how is it?"

Levin began at once a long and circumstantial account, filled with a crowd of useless details, and interrupted himself at every moment to urge the doctor to set out.

"Yes, but you must not be anxious. You see you don't know. I really am not needed yet; still I have promised, and I assure you I'll go. But there 's no hurry. Please sit down; won't you have some coffee?"

Levin looked at him, with a questioning look, asking with his eyes if he were not laughing at him; but the doctor was in serious earnest.

"I know, I know," added the physician, smiling; "I myself am a family man, and we husbands cut a sorry figure in such cases. The husband of one of my patients always, on such occasions, goes off to the stable."

"But do you think, Piotr Dmitrievitch,—do you think she'll get on well?"

"All the indications point to a fortunate issue."

"Won't you come at once?" said Levin, looking with angry eyes at the servant who was bringing the coffee.

"Within an hour."

"For God's sake!"

"Well, let me take my coffee."

The doctor proceeded to take his breakfast. Both were silent.

"It seems the Turks are beating. Did you read the