that nothing remained for me but to open that door. I did so and went into the next room.
This room was still smaller and narrower than the previous one, so that I did not even know where to turn in it; a narrow single bed in the corner took up terribly much space; the rest of the furniture consisted of three simple chairs heaped with all sorts of rags and a very simple wooden kitchen table in front of an old oilcloth sofa, so that it was almost impossible to pass between the table and the bed. The same iron night-light with a tallow candle as in the other room burned on the table, and on the bed squealed a tiny baby, maybe only three weeks old, judging by its cry; it was being "changed," that is, put into a clean diaper, by a sick and pale woman, young-seeming, in extreme négligé, and perhaps just beginning to get up after her confinement; but the baby would not be quiet and cried in anticipation of the lean breast. On the sofa another child slept, a three-year-old girl, covered, it seemed, with a tailcoat. By the table stood a gentleman in a very shabby frock coat (he had already taken his coat off and it was lying on the bed), unwrapping the blue paper in which about two pounds of wheat bread and two small sausages were wrapped. On the table, besides that, there was a teapot with tea and some scattered pieces of black bread. An unlocked suitcase showed from under the bed, and two bundles with some rags stuck out.
In short, there was terrible disorder. It seemed to me, at first glance, that both of them—the gentleman and the lady—were decent people, but reduced by poverty to that humiliating state in which disorder finally overcomes every attempt to struggle with it and even reduces people to the bitter necessity of finding in this disorder, as it increases daily, some bitter and, as it were, vengeful sense of pleasure.
When I came in, this gentleman, who had come in just before me and was unwrapping his provisions, was talking rapidly and heatedly with his wife; she, though she had not yet finished swaddling the baby, had already begun to whimper; the news must have been bad, as usual. The face of this gentleman, who was about twenty-eight by the look of it, swarthy and dry, framed in black side-whiskers, with his chin shaved till it gleamed, struck me as rather respectable and even agreeable; it was sullen, with a sullen gaze, but with some morbid tinge of a pride that was all too easily irritated. When I came in, a strange scene took place.
There are people who take extreme pleasure in their irritable
touchiness, and especially when it reaches (which always happens very quickly) the ultimate limit in them; in that instant it even seems they would rather be offended than not offended. Afterwards these irritable people always suffer terrible remorse, if they are intelligent, naturally, and able to realize that they had become ten times angrier than they should have. For some time this gentleman looked at me in amazement, and his wife in fright, as if it were dreadfully outlandish that anyone should come into their room; but suddenly he fell upon me almost in a rage; I had not yet managed to mumble even a couple of words, but he, especially seeing that I was decently dressed, must have considered himself dreadfully offended that I dared to look so unceremoniously into his corner and see all his hideous situation, which he was so ashamed of himself. Of course, he was glad of the chance to vent his anger for all his misfortunes at least on someone. There was a moment when I even thought he would start fighting; he grew pale, like a woman in hysterics, and frightened his wife terribly.
"How dare you come in like that? Out!" he shouted, trembling and even barely articulating the words. But suddenly he saw his wallet in my hand.
"It seems you dropped it," I said as calmly and drily as I could. (Anyhow, that was the only proper way.)
The man stood before me totally frightened and for some time was as if unable to understand anything; then he quickly clutched his side pocket, opened his mouth in horror, and struck himself on the forehead with his hand.
"God! Where did you find it? How on earth?"
I explained in the briefest terms and as drily as I could how I had picked up the wallet, how I had run and called out to him, and how, finally, by guessing and almost groping my way, I had run after him up the stairs.
"Oh, God!" he cried, turning to his wife. "All our documents are in it, all my last instruments, everything . . . oh, my dear sir, do you know what you have done for me? I'd have perished!"
I had taken hold of the door handle meanwhile, so as to leave without replying; but I was out of breath myself and suddenly my agitation broke out in such a violent fit of coughing that I could barely stay on my feet. I saw how the gentleman rushed in all directions to find an empty chair for me, finally seized all the rags on one chair, threw them on the floor, and hurriedly offered me the chair and carefully sat me down on it. But my coughing went
on and did not let up for about three more minutes. When I recovered, he was sitting next to me on another chair, from which he had probably also thrown the rags on the floor, and was studying me intently.
"You seem to be . . . suffering?" he said in the tone in which doctors usually speak when they approach a patient. "I myself am a . . . medical man" (he did not say "doctor"), and having said that, he pointed to the room with his hand for some reason, as if protesting against his present situation. "I see that you . . ."
"I have consumption," I said as curtly as possible and stood up.
He also jumped up at once.
"Maybe you exaggerate and . . . if measures are taken . . ."
He was very bewildered and still as if unable to come to his senses; the wallet stuck out of his left hand.
"Oh, don't worry," I interrupted again, taking hold of the door handle, "last week —n examined me" (again I put —n into it) "and my case is decided. Excuse me . . ."
I was again about to open the door and leave my embarrassed, grateful, and crushed-with- shame doctor, but just then the cursed cough seized me again. Here my doctor insisted that I again sit down to rest; he turned to his wife, and she, without leaving her place, spoke a few friendly words of gratitude. She became very embarrassed as she did so, and color even played over her dry, pale yellow cheeks. I stayed, but with a look which showed every second that I was terribly afraid of being in their way (as was proper). Remorse finally tormented my doctor, I could see that.