Augustinovich followed Yosef's eyes carefully. He had a foreboding of evil.
Meanwhile, as usual, toward evening the fever increased; still the sick man fell asleep. Augustinovich strove to persuade Helena to go home for rest.
"I will not leave him for a moment," answered she, with what for her was uncommon decision.
Augustinovich took his seat in the armchair in silence and meditated deeply; soon his head began to weigh on him, his lids became leaden, an invincible drowsiness seized him with increasing force, his head dropped on his breast, he nodded to the right, to the left, and fell asleep.
After a while he woke again.
"Is he sleeping?" inquired he, looking at Yosef.
"He is sleeping, but unquietly," answered Helena.
Augustinovich again dropped his head. Suddenly a shriek from Helena roused him.
The sick man was sitting up in bed in a paroxysm of malignant fever; his face was burning, his eyes glittering like those of a wolf; his emaciated hand was extended toward Helena.
