rather go—go, and send for me," and she turned back to the room.
Levin hastened to his brother.
He had never expected to see and experience what now he saw and experienced. He expected to find him in that state of illusion so common to consumptives, and which had so struck him during his visit the preceding autumn. He expected to find him with the physical indications of approaching death more distinct than before—greater feebleness, greater emaciation, but practically about the same state of things. He expected that he should have the same feeling of pity for this well-beloved brother, and of horror at the presence of death,—only intensified. He was quite prepared for this. But what he saw was absolutely different.
In a little, close, dirty, ill-smelling room, the paneled walls of which were covered with red stains of expectoration, separated by a thin partition from another room, where conversation was going on, he saw lying on a wretched bed moved out from the wall a body covered with a counterpane. One hand huge as a rake, and holding in a strange way by the end a sort of long and slender bobbin, was on the outside of the counterpane. The head, resting on the pillow, showed the thin hair glued to his temples, and a strained, almost transparent brow.
"Can it be that this horrible body is my brother Nikolaï?" thought Levin; but as he came near, he saw his face and the doubt ceased. In spite of the terrible change that had taken place, it was enough to glance at the lively eyes turned toward him as he entered, or the motions of his mouth under the long mustache, to recognize the frightful truth that this dead body was indeed his living brother.
Nikolaï's gleaming eyes gazed at his brother with a stern and reproachful look. His look seemed to bring living relations between living beings. Konstantin instantly felt the reproach in the eyes fixed on him and regret for his own happiness.
When Konstantin took his brother's hand, Nikolai smiled; but the smile was slight, almost imperceptible,
