"Is he alive?" cried she.
"He is dying!" answered Augustinovich, briefly.
A few hours later the chaplain of the hospital anointed Yosef. Augustinovich had not strength to be present at the ceremony; he ran out into the city.
He needed to collect his thoughts, he needed to draw breath; he felt that his thoughts were beginning to grow dim—very likely the loss of Yosef would destroy his balance. He had expected everything, but not that Yosef would die.
He did not know himself whither he was hurrying; a number of times he halted as if in fear that he would return too late.
All at once some thought flashed through his head; he noticed that he was standing before Helena's lodgings.
"I will go in. Let her take farewell of him!"
Half an hour later Helena was kneeling at Yosef's bed. Her unbound hair was lying in broad tresses on the bed; she was embracing the sick man's feet with her hands, her face resting on them.
In that room of the hospital reigned a silence of the grave; nothing was heard but the quick broken breath of Yosef.
