The child’s head vanished quickly, and in its place appeared Elena. Bersenyev jumped up as if he had been stung; but Elena did not stir, nor cry out. It seemed as if she understood everything in a single instant. A terrible pallor overspread her face, she went up to the screen, looked behind it, threw up her arms, and seemed turned to stone. A moment more and she would have flung herself on Insarov, but Bersenyev stopped her. ‘What are you doing?’ he said in a trembling whisper, ‘you might be the death of him!’ She was reeling. He led her to the sofa, and made her sit down. She looked into his face, then her eyes ran over him from head to foot, then stared at the floor. ‘Will he die?’ she asked so coldly and quietly that Bersenyev was frightened. ‘For God’s sake, Elena Nikolaevna,’ he began, ‘what are you saying? He is ill certainly--and rather seriously--but we will save him; I promise you that.’ ‘He is unconscious?’ she asked in the same tone of voice as before. ‘Yes, he is unconscious at present. That’s always the case at the early stage of these illnesses, but it means nothing, nothing--I assure you. Drink some water.’ She raised her eyes to his, and he saw she had not heard his answer. ‘If he dies,’ she said in the same voice, ‘I will die too.’ At that instant Insarov uttered a slight moan; she trembled all over, clutched at her head, then began untying the strings of her hat. ‘What are you doing?’ Bersenyev asked her. ‘I will stay here.’ ‘You will stay--for long?’ ‘I don’t know, perhaps all day, the night, always--I don’t know.’ ‘For God’s sake, Elena Nikolaevna, control yourself. I could not of course have any expectation of seeing you here; but still I--assume you have come for a short time. Remember they may miss you at home.’ ‘What then?’ ‘They will look for you--find you----’ ‘What then?’ ‘Elena Nikolaevna! You see. He cannot now protect you.’ She dropped her head, seemed lost in thought, raised a handkerchief to her lips, and convulsive sobs, tearing her by their violence, were suddenly wrung from her breast. She threw herself, face downwards, on the sofa, trying to stifle them, but still her body heaved and throbbed like a captured bird. ‘Elena Nikolaevna--for God’s sake,’ Bersenyev was repeating over her. ‘Ah! What is it?’ suddenly sounded the voice of Insarov. Elena started up, and Bersenyev felt rooted to the spot. After waiting a little, he went up to the bed. Insarov’s head lay on the pillow helpless as before; his eyes were closed. ‘Is he delirious?’ whispered Elena. ‘It seems so,’ answered Bersenyev, ‘but that’s nothing; it’s always so, especially if----’ ‘When was he taken ill?’ Elena broke in. ‘The day before yesterday; I have been here since yesterday. Rely on me, Elena Nikolaevna. I will not leave him; everything shall be done. If necessary, we will have a consultation.’ ‘He will die without me,’ she cried, wringing her hands.