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"Do you want some tea?"

"Afterwards," he said with an effort, closing his eyes again and

turning to the wall.

Nastasya stood over him.

"Perhaps he really is ill," she said, turned and went out. She

came in again at two o'clock with soup. He was lying as before.

The tea stood untouched. Nastasya felt positively offended and

began wrathfully rousing him.

"Why are you lying like a log?" she shouted, looking at him with

repulsion.

He got up, and sat down again, but said nothing and stared at the

floor.

"Are you ill or not?" asked Nastasya and again received no

answer. "You'd better go out and get a breath of air," she said

after a pause. "Will you eat it or not?"

"Afterwards," he said weakly. "You can go."

And he motioned her out.

She remained a little longer, looked at him with compassion and

went out.

A few minutes afterwards, he raised his eyes and looked for a

long while at the tea and the soup. Then he took the bread, took

up a spoon and began to eat.