‘What have you come for?’ ‘You waked me up. At first you kept moaning as it were ... and then you cried out all of a sudden, “Save me! help me! “’ ‘I cried out?’ ‘Yes, and such a hoarse cry, “Save me!” I thought, Mercy on us! He’s never ill, is he? And I came in. Are you quite well?’ ‘Perfectly well.’ ‘Well, you must have had a bad dream then. Would you like me to burn a little incense?’ Aratov once more stared intently at his aunt, and laughed aloud.... The figure of the good old lady in her nightcap and dressing-jacket, with her long face and scared expression, was certainly very comic. All the mystery surrounding him, oppressing him--everything weird was sent flying instantaneously. ‘No, Platosha dear, there’s no need,’ he said. ‘Please forgive me for unwittingly troubling you. Sleep well, and I will sleep too.’ Platonida Ivanovna remained a minute standing where she was, pointed to the candle, grumbled, ‘Why not put it out ... an accident happens in a minute?’ and as she went out, could not refrain, though only at a distance, from making the sign of the cross over him. Aratov fell asleep quickly, and slept till morning. He even got up in a happy frame of mind ... though he felt sorry for something.... He felt light and free. ‘What romantic fancies, if you come to think of it!’ he said to himself with a smile. He never once glanced either at the stereoscope, or at the page torn out of the diary. Immediately after breakfast, however, he set off to go to Kupfer’s. What drew him there ... he was dimly aware. XVI Aratov found his sanguine friend at home. He chatted a little with him, reproached him for having quite forgotten his aunt and himself, listened to fresh praises of that heart of gold, the princess, who had just sent Kupfer from Yaroslav a smoking-cap embroidered with fish-scales ... and all at once, sitting just opposite Kupfer and looking him straight in the face, he announced that he had been a journey to Kazan. ‘You have been to Kazan; what for?’ ‘Oh, I wanted to collect some facts about that ... Clara Militch.’ ‘The one that poisoned herself?’ ‘Yes.’ Kupfer shook his head. ‘Well, you are a chap! And so quiet about it! Toiled a thousand miles out there and back ... for what? Eh? If there’d been some woman in the case now! Then I can understand anything! anything! any madness!’ Kupfer ruffled up his hair. ‘But simply to collect materials, as it’s called among you learned people.... I’d rather be excused! There are statistical writers to do that job! Well, and did you make friends with the old lady and the sister? Isn’t she a delightful girl?’ ‘Delightful,’ answered Aratov, ‘she gave me a great deal of interesting information.’ ‘Did she tell you exactly how Clara took poison?’ ‘You mean ... how?’ ‘Yes, in what manner?’ ‘No ... she was still in such grief ... I did not venture to question her too much. Was there anything remarkable about it?’