"Marianne and Solomin stood on each side of the couch, almost as pale as Nezhdanof himself. Both were stunned, startled, crushed, especially Marianne, but they were not surprised. 'Why did not we foresee this?' each thought; and yet at the same time it seemed to them that they ... yes, they had foreseen it. When he said to Marianne, 'Whatever I do, I warn you of it beforehand, you will not be surprised,' and again, when he had spoken of the two men that existed in him, who can yet not live together, did not something like a presentiment stir in her? Why then did she not stop at that moment and reflect upon these words and this presentiment? Why does not she dare now to look at Solomin, as if he were her accomplice ... as if he too were suffering remorse? Why was the feeling of infinite pity, of desperate regret with which Nezhdanof inspired her mingled with a kind of terror, with shame, with remorse? Might she perhaps have saved him? Why does neither of them dare to utter a word? They hardly dare to breathe; they wait; what are they waiting for, Great God? "Solomin sent for a surgeon, although there was of course no hope; upon the small black bloodless wound Tatyana had put a sponge with cold water, and moistened his hair also with cold water and vinegar; suddenly Nezhdanof ceased choking and made a slight movement. "'He is coming to himself,' muttered Solomin. "Marianne knelt beside the sofa.... Nezhdanof looked at her ... up to this moment his eyes had been fixed, like those of every dying person. "'Ah! I am still ... alive,' he said with a hardly audible voice. 'Unsuccessful as ever.... I am detaining you.' "'Aliosha,' Marianne contrived to groan out. "'Yes ... soon.... You remember, Marianne, in my ... poem ... "Surround me with flowers." ... Where then are the flowers?... But you are here instead ... there, in my letter....' Suddenly he began to shiver from head to foot. "'Ah, here she is.... Give ... each other ... your hands--in my presence.... Quick ... give--' "Solomin raised Marianne's hand, her head lay on the sofa, face down, close to the very wound. As for Solomin, he stood straight and rigid, black as night. "'So, that is right ... so.' "Nezhdanof began to gasp again, but this time in an entirely strange way; his chest rose and his sides contracted ... he made evident efforts to place his hand on their clasped hands, but _his_ were already dead. "'He is going,' murmured Tatyana, who was standing near the door; and she began to cross herself. The sobbing breaths became rarer, shorter; he was still seeking Marianne with his look, but a kind of threatening milky whiteness already veiled his eyes from within. "'Good!...' this was his last word.