“Yes, I am not well,” agreed Oblomov. “Somehow my left leg has lost all feeling.” Schtoltz threw at him a keen glance, and then eyed the dressing-gown, the curtains, and the coverlet. “Never mind,” said Oblomov confusedly. “You know that never at any time do I keep my place tidy. But how is Olga?” “She has not forgotten you. Possibly you will end by forgetting _her?_” “No, never! Never could I forget the time when I was really alive and living in Paradise. Where is she, then?” “In the country.” “With her aunt?” “Yes--and also with her husband.” “So she is married? Has she been married long? And is she happy?” Oblomov had quite sloughed his lethargy. “I feel as though you had removed a great burden from my mind. True, when you were last here, you assured me that she had forgiven me; but all this time I have been unable to rest for the gnawing at my heart.... Tell me who the fortunate man is?” “Who he is?” repeated Schtoltz. “Why, cannot you guess, Ilya!” Oblomov’s gaze grew more intent, and for a moment or two his features stiffened, and every vestige of colour left his cheeks. “Surely it is not yourself?” he asked abruptly. “It is. I married her last year.” The agitation faded from Oblomov’s expression, and gave place to his usual apathetic moodiness. For a moment or two he did not raise his eyes; but when he did so they were full of kindly tears. “Dear Schtoltz!” he cried, embracing his friend. “And dear Olga! May God bless you both! How pleased I am! Pray tell her so.” “I will tell her that in all the world there exists not my friend Oblomov’s equal.” Schtoltz was profoundly moved. “No, tell her, rather, that I was fated to meet her, in order that I might set her on the right road. Tell her also that I bless both that meeting and the road which she has now taken. To think that that road might have been different! As it is, I have nothing to blush for, and nothing of which to repent. You have relieved my soul of a great burden, and all within it is bright. I thank you, I thank you!” “I _will_ tell her what you have said,” replied Schtoltz. “She has indeed reason for never forgetting you, for you would have been worthy of her--yes, worthy of her, you who have a heart as deep as the sea. You must come and visit us in the country.” “No,” replied the other. “It is not that I am afraid of witnessing your married happiness, or of becoming jealous of her love for you. Yet I will not come.” “Then of what are you afraid?”