Renditch said nothing and only moved on one side. There slipped quickly past him a little figure in a wig and spectacles; it was a doctor living in the same hotel. He went up to Insarov. ‘Signora,’ he said, after the lapse of a few minutes, ‘the foreign gentleman is dead--_il Signore forestiere e morte_--of aneurism in combination with disease of the lungs.’ XXXV The next day, in the same room, Renditch was standing at the window; before him, wrapped in a shawl, sat Elena. In the next room, Insarov lay in his coffin. Elena’s face was both scared and lifeless; two lines could be seen on her forehead between her eyebrows; they gave a strained expression to her fixed eyes. In the window lay an open letter from Anna Vassilyevna. She begged her daughter to come to Moscow if only for a month, complained of her loneliness, and of Nikolai Artemyevitch, sent greetings to Insarov, inquired after his health, and begged him to spare his wife. Renditch was a Dalmatian, a sailor, with whom Insarov had become acquainted during his wanderings in his own country, and whom he had sought out in Venice. He was a dry, gruff man, full of daring and devoted to the Slavonic cause. He despised the Turks and hated the Austrians. ‘How long must you remain at Venice?’ Elena asked him in Italian. And her voice was as lifeless as her face. ‘One day for freighting and not to rouse suspicions, and then straight to Zara. I shall have sad news for our countrymen. They have long been expecting him; they rested their hopes on him.’ ‘They rested their hopes on him,’ Elena repeated mechanically. ‘When will you bury him?’ asked Renditch. Elena not at once replied, ‘To-morrow.’ ‘To-morrow? I will stop; I should like to throw a handful of earth into his grave. And you will want help. But it would have been better for him to lie in Slavonic earth.’ Elena looked at Renditch. ‘Captain,’ she said, ‘take me and him and carry us across to the other side of the sea, away from here. Isn’t that possible?’ Renditch considered: ‘Possible certainly, but difficult. We shall have to come into collision with the damned authorities here. But supposing we arrange all that and bury him there, how am I to bring you back?’ ‘You need not bring me back.’ ‘What? where will you stop?’ ‘I shall find some place for myself; only take us, take me.’ Renditch scratched the back of his head. ‘You know best; but it’s all very difficult. I will, I will try; and you expect me here in two hours’ time.’