me up. It’s difficult for me alone, and I’ve sent Dmitry away.”
Gerasim went up to him; as lightly as he stepped he put his strong arms round him, deftly and gently lifted and supported him, with the other hand pulled up his trousers, and would have set him down again. But Ivan Ilyitch asked him to carry him to the sofa. Gerasim, without effort, carefully not squeezing him, led him, almost carrying him, to the sofa, and settled him there.
“Thank you; how neatly and well … you do everything.”
Gerasim smiled again, and would have gone away. But Ivan Ilyitch felt his presence such a comfort that he was reluctant to let him go.
“Oh, move that chair near me, please. No, that one, under my legs. I feel easier when my legs are higher.”
Gerasim picked up the chair, and without letting it knock, set it gently down on the ground just at the right place, and lifted Ivan Ilyitch’s legs on to it. It seemed to Ivan Ilyitch that he was easier just at the moment when Gerasim lifted his legs higher.
“I’m better when my legs are higher,” said Ivan Ilyitch. “Put that cushion under me.”
Gerasim did so. Again he lifted his legs to put the cushion under them. Again it seemed to Ivan Ilyitch that he was easier at that moment when Gerasim held his legs raised. When he laid them down again, he felt worse.
“Gerasim,” he said to him, “are you busy just now?”
“Not at all, sir,” said Gerasim, who had learned among the town-bred servants how to speak to gentlefolks.
“What have you left to do?”