"What doctors?" "The _zemstvo_ doctor and one from the town used to come here." "Fine doctors! If they'd given him a good bleeding, they'd have saved him." "So nothing at all can be done?" "Well, I said, 'The Lord's mercy is great,' and I can add nothing to that." "But perhaps it will work?" "What will work?" "I mean--the mustard plasters." "Perhaps." A woman in a black dress and black shawl brought in a tray holding a decanter of vodka, a dish of sausages and a dish of caviar. The doctor helped himself to the vodka, held the glass to the light and smacked his tongue. "Your health, mother," he said to the old lady, and gulped the liquid. "Drink in good health, my dear sir." "This is the cause of Pavel Vladimirych dying in the prime of his life, this vodka," said the doctor, grimacing comfortably and spearing a piece of sausage with his fork. "Yes, it's the ruin of many a man." "That's because not everyone can stand it. But I can, and I shall have another glass. Your health, madam." "Drink, drink. Nothing can happen to you." "Nothing. My lungs and kidneys and liver and spleen are in excellent condition. By the way," he turned to the woman in black who stood at the door, listening to the conversation, "What will you have for dinner to-day?" "Hash and beef cutlets and chicken for roast," she answered, smiling somewhat sourly. "Have you any smoked fish?" "We have, sir. We have white sturgeon and stellated sturgeon, plenty of it." "Then have a cold soup with sturgeon for our dinner, and pick out a fat bit of sturgeon, you hear me? What is your name? Ulita?" "Yes, sir, people call me Ulita." "Well, then, hurry up, friend Ulita, hurry up." Ulita left the room, and for a while oppressive silence reigned. Then Arina Petrovna rose from her seat and made sure Ulita was not eavesdropping. "Andrey Osipych, have you spoken to him yet about the orphans?" she asked the doctor. "Yes, I did." "Well?" "There was no change. 'When I get well' he kept on saying, 'I will make my will and write the notes.'" Silence, heavier than before, filled the room. The girls took the crocheting from the table, and their trembling hands worked one row after the other. Arina Petrovna heaved a deep sigh of dejection. The doctor paced up and down the room and whistled, "Head over heels, head over heels." "But did you try to drive the matter home to him, doctor?" "Well, I said to him: 'You'll be a scoundrel if you don't make a definite provision for the orphans.' Could I make it clearer? Yes, mother, you certainly slipped up. If you had called me in a month ago, I would have given him a good bleeding and I would have seen to it that he made his will. But now everything will go to Yudushka, the lawful heir. It certainly will." "Oh, grandmother, what will become of us?" said the older of the two girls, plaintively and almost in tears. "What is uncle doing to us?"