Orloff felt suddenly with a clear flash the strong silent voice of his soul speaking. In order to strengthen the flickering flame, he rubbed his forehead briskly; then he left the room suddenly, ran across the yard, and disappeared down the street. "Oh, Lord!... The cobbler's taken ill now!... He's run off to the Infirmary!" cried loudly the cook. Matrona stood near her, with wide-open eyes, and trembling in her whole body. "You're a liar!" she said angrily, though her white lips could scarcely pronounce the words. "My Grischka could not catch this filthy complaint. He'd never give way to it." But the cook was not listening to her; she had already gone off somewhere else, talking excitedly as she went along. Five minutes later quite a crowd of neighbours and passers-by had assembled before the merchant Petounukoff's house. There they stood, whispering together under their breath, and on each of their faces one could read the same feeling of terror, nervous excitement and hopeless misery--mixed with secret rage on the part of some, and of fictitious boldness on that of others. Tschischik ran backwards and forwards between the courtyard and the sick man's room, bringing each time to the curious crowd of onlookers some fresh piece of news about the condition of the accordion-player. The crowd stood tightly pressed together, and filled the dusty, foul-smelling air of the street with its half-uttered whispers. From time to time a loud oath from some undistinguishable quarter was heard; an oath as senseless as it was malicious. "Look there; there's Orloff coming!" Orloff drove up on an ambulance-van covered over with a white awning, which stopped at the door of the old house. He was seated by the side of the driver, a dark-looking man, who was also dressed in white linen. "Make way there! Get out of the way!" shouted the driver of the carriage, in a deep bass voice to the bystanders. He drove right into the midst of the crowd, so that they scattered to right and left, falling over each other. The sight of the ambulance-van, and the rough voice of the driver, both helped to calm the excited feelings of the onlookers, and many of them left their posts of observation. Close behind the driver was to be seen the medical student, who had the day before visited the Orloffs. His hat was on the back of his head, big drops of perspiration stood out on his forehead. He wore a long, dazzlingly white coat, in front of which a big hole had been burnt out with some strong acid. "Now then, Orloff! Where's the sick man?" asked the student in a loud voice, throwing a critical glance at the bystanders, who were loitering about in small knots, partially concealed behind the comers of the gates. "Look out! There's the cook coming," cried some one. "Take care, or he'll cook you something you don't like!" replied a second voice in a vicious tone.