A slight general fever began to show itself. They put on some leeches: the pulse grew more even, slower, and considerably lighter. "I caught," says Dahl, "like a drowning man at a straw. With a firm voice, I pronounced the word _hope_; and was about to deceive both myself and others." Pushkin, observing that Dahl was growing more sanguine, took him by the hand, and said--"_There is nobody there?_" "No one." "_Dahl, tell me the truth, shall I die soon?_" "We have hopes of you, Pushkin--really, we have hopes." "_Well, thank you!_" he replied. As far as it appears, he had only once flattered himself with the consolation of hope: neither before nor after this moment did he feel any trust in it. Almost the whole night (that is, of the 29th, during the whole of which Dahl sate by the bedside, and I, Viazemskii, and Vielhorskii, in the next room,) he held Dahl's hand. He often would take a spoonful of water, or little lump of ice, into his mouth, doing every thing himself: taking the tumbler from a shelf within reach, rubbing his temples with ice, applying himself the fomentations to his stomach, changing them himself, &c. He suffered less from pain than from an excessive feeling of depression. "_Ah! what depression_!" he several times exclaimed, throwing his hands backward above his head; "_it makes my heart die within me_!" He then begged them to lift him up, or to turn him on his side, or to arrange his pillow; and, without letting them finish to do so, would stop them generally with the words--"_There! so, so--very well; so it is very well; well enough; now it is quite right_;" or, "_Stop--never mind--only pull my arm a little--so! now it is very well--excellent_!"--(these are all his exact expressions.) "In general," says Dahl, "with respect to my treatment, he was as manageable and obedient as a child, and did every thing I wished." Once he inquired of Dahl, "_Who is with my wife?_" Dahl answered, "Many good people feel a sympathy with you; the drawing-room and the antechamber are full from morning to night." "_Oh, thank you_," he replied; "_only go and tell my wife that all is going on well, thank God! or else they will talk all sorts of nonsense to her there, I suppose._" Dahl did not deceive him. From the morning of the 28th, when the news that Pushkin was dying had flown through the whole town, his antechamber had been incessantly crowded with visitors; some enquiring after him by messengers, others--and people of all conditions, whether acquainted with him or not--coming themselves. The feeling of a national, an universal affliction, was never more touchingly expressed than by this proceeding. The number of visitors became at last so immense, that the entrance-door (which was close to the study where the dying man lay) was incessantly opening and shutting; this disturbed the sufferer, and we imagined the expedient of closing that door, by placing against it a chest from the hall, and instead of it opening another