Kornéy with difficulty dragged himself back to Andréyevo by the evening, and again asked permission to stay the night at the Zinóvyefs’. They let him in.
“So you’ve not gone on, daddy?”
“No, I felt too weak. It seems I shall have to go back. Will you let me stay the night?”
“Oh yes! You’ll not wear out the spot you lie on. Come in and get dry.”
All night Kornéy shivered with fever. Towards morning he dozed off, and when he awoke the family had all gone out to work. Only Agatha remained in the hut.
He was lying on the shelf-bed, on a dry coat the old woman had spread for him.
Agatha was taking bread out of the oven.
“My dear,” he said, in a feeble voice, “come here!”
“Coming, daddy,” she answered, getting out the loaves. “Want a drink? A drop of kvass?”
He did not answer.
When she had taken out all the loaves, she brought him a bowl of kvass. He did not turn towards her, and did not drink, but lay, face upwards, and began speaking without looking at her.
“Agatha,” he said, “my time has come. I am going to die. So forgive me, for Christ’s sake!”