THE DEATH OF MADAM PETUKHOV
ii
Andrew, who had been itching to say something more about medicine, said in a solemn voice : ‘ There’s nothing hke haemoglobin.’ . And having said this he was silent, leavmg the rest to think over the marvels of that remedy. The moon rose. It was time for supper and the idlers went home. Meanwhile Madam Petukhov was dying. At one minute she asked for water, at another she wanted to get up to fetch Hippolyte’s boots which had been taken to be repaired, then she said she would choke with all the dust that was flying about, and then she wanted aU the lamps to be lit. Hippolyte was worn out with anxiety and was pacing up and down the room. Disagreeable thoughts crowded into his head. He would have to take an advance from the Society of Mutual Credit; he would have to run for the priest and answer letters of sym pathy from relations. To distract himself a little he went out on to the top step and in the green hght of the moon he suddenly noticed Bezenchuk. ‘ Well, Mr. Vorobianinov,’ he said, ' what are you going to order ? ’ ‘ Oh ! I don’t know,’ said Hippolyte gloomily. ‘ I tell you the Nymphs aren’t any earthly use. What sort of goods can they supply ? ’ ‘ Go to the devil! ’ snapped Hippolyte. ‘ I’m sick to death of the sight of you.’ ' Oh ! I----- It’s nothing really. I only came to ask you about the tassels and brocade. What’ll you have ? Superfine quality A, or what ? ’ ‘ No tassels and no brocade. A simple wooden cofiin. Pine. D’you hear ? ’ Bezenchuk put his finger to his hps to show that he had caught the other man’s meaning perfectly, turned on his heel, and staggered home. It was only then Hippolyte realized that the undertaker was drunk. Hippolyte was disgusted. He could not imagine
