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On The Eve: A Novel - Chapter 27 Post by :dannyboy Category :Long Stories Author :Ivan Turgenev Date :May 2012 Read :2318

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On The Eve: A Novel - Chapter 27

Chapter XXVII

Bersenyev's words turned out only partly true; the danger was over,
but Insarov gained strength slowly, and the doctor talked of a complete
undermining of the whole system. The patient left his bed for all
that, and began to walk about the room; Bersenyev went home to his own
lodging, but he came every day to his still feeble friend; and every day
as before he informed Elena of the state of his health. Insarov did
not dare to write to her, and only indirectly in his conversations with
Bersenyev referred to her; but Bersenyev, with assumed carelessness,
told him about his visits to the Stahovs, trying, however, to give him
to understand that Elena had been deeply distressed, and that now she
was calmer. Elena too did not write to Insarov; she had a plan in her

One day Bersenyev had just informed her with a cheerful face that the
doctor had already allowed Insarov to eat a cutlet, and that he would
probably soon go out; she seemed absorbed, dropped her eyes.

'Guess, what I want to say to you,' she said. Bersenyev was confused. He
understood her.

'I suppose,' he answered, looking away, 'you want to say that you wish
to see him.'

Elena crimsoned, and scarcely audibly, she breathed, 'Yes.'

'Well, what then? That, I imagine, you can easily do.'--'Ugh!' he
thought, 'what a loath-some feeling there is in my heart!'

'You mean that I have already before...' said Elena. 'But I am
afraid--now he is, you say, seldom alone.'

'That's not difficult to get over,' replied Bersenyev, still not looking
at her. 'I, of course, cannot prepare him; but give me a note. Who
can hinder your writing to him as a good friend, in whom you take an
interest? There's no harm in that. Appoint--I mean, write to him when
you will come.

'I am ashamed,' whispered Elena.

'Give me the note, I will take it.'

'There's no need of that, but I wanted to ask you--don't be angry with
me, Andrei Petrovitch--don't go to him to-morrow!'

Bersenyev bit his lip.

'Ah! yes, I understand; very well, very well,' and, adding two or three
words more, he quickly took leave.

'So much the better, so much the better,' he thought, as he hurried
home. 'I have learnt nothing new, but so much the better. What possessed
me to go hanging on to the edge of another man's happiness? I regret
nothing; I have done what my conscience told me; but now it is over. Let
them be! My father was right when he used to say to me: "You and I,
my dear boy, are not Sybarites, we are not aristocrats, we're not the
spoilt darlings of fortune and nature, we are not even martyrs--we are
workmen and nothing more. Put on your leather apron, workman, and take
your place at your workman's bench, in your dark workshop, and let the
sun shine on other men! Even our dull life has its own pride, its own

The next morning Insarov got a brief note by the post. 'Expect me,'
Elena wrote to him, 'and give orders for no one to see you. A. P. will
not come.'

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On The Eve: A Novel - Chapter 28 On The Eve: A Novel - Chapter 28

On The Eve: A Novel - Chapter 28
Chapter XXVIIIInsarov read Elena's note, and at once began to set his room to rights;asked his landlady to take away the medicine-glasses, took off hisdressing-gown and put on his coat. His head was swimming and his heartthrobbing from weakness and delight. His knees were shaking; he droppedon to the sofa, and began to look at his watch. 'It's now a quarter totwelve,' he said to himself. 'She can never come before twelve: I willthink of something else for a quarter of an hour, or I shall break downaltogether. Before twelve she cannot possibly come.'The door was opened, and in a light

On The Eve: A Novel - Chapter 26 On The Eve: A Novel - Chapter 26

On The Eve: A Novel - Chapter 26
Chapter XXVIFor eight whole days Insarov lay between life and death. The doctor wasincessantly visiting him, interested as a young man in a difficult case.Shubin heard of Insarov's critical position, and made inquiries afterhim. His compatriots--Bulgarians--came; among them Bersenyev recognisedthe two strange figures, who had puzzled him by their unexpected visitto the cottage; they all showed genuine sympathy, some offered to takeBersenyev's place by the patient's bed-side; but he would not consentto that, remembering his promise to Elena. He saw her every day andsecretly reported to her--sometimes by word of mouth, sometimes in abrief note--every detail of the illness. With what