Page:The Novels of Ivan Turgenev (volume VIII).djvu/74

 man, an author; he died, of course, in poverty, but he had managed before he died to give his children an excellent education; he left a lot of books too. Either because I looked after the invalid very carefully, or for some other reason; any way, I can venture to say all the household loved me as if I were one of the family. Meantime the roads were in a worse state than ever; all communications, so to say, were cut off completely; even medicine could with difficulty be got from the town. The sick girl was not getting better. Day after day, and day after day but  here. ' (The doctor made a brief pause.) 'I declare I don't know how to tell you.' (He again took snuff, coughed, and swallowed a little tea.) 'I will tell you without beating about the bush. My patient how should I say? Well, she had fallen in love with me or, no, it was not that she was in love  however  really, how should one say?' (The doctor looked down and grew red.) 'No,' he went on quickly, 'in love, indeed! A man should not over-estimate himself. She was an educated girl, clever and well-read, and I had even forgotten my Latin, one may say, completely. As to appearance' (the doctor looked himself over with a smile) 'I am nothing to boast of there either. But God Almighty did not make me a fool; I don't take black for white; I know a thing or two; I could see very clearly, for instance, that Alexandra Andreevna—that was her name—did not feel love for me, but had a friendly, so to