66
THE DEATH OF IVÁN ILÍCH
smiled at the young man a faint, significant smile about something which they alone knew, and got up, causing her dress to rustle.
All arose, said good-bye, and departed.
When they went out, it seemed to Iván Ilích that he was feeling easier: there was no lie,—it departed with them,—but the pain was still left. The old pain, the old terror made him feel neither harder, nor easier. It was all worse.
Again minute after minute elapsed, and hour after hour, and again the same, and again no end, and more and more terrible the inevitable end.
"Yes, call Gerásim," he answered to Peter's question.
