me," she said to her husband. "You know, in the side pocket; please bring it, and in the meantime we will finish arranging him."
When Levin came back with the flask, he found the invalid lying down in bed, and everything about him had assumed a different appearance. The oppressive odor had been exchanged for that of aromatic vinegar which Kitty, pursing up her lips and puffing out her rosy cheeks, was scattering about from a glass tube. The dust was all gone; a rug was spread under the bed; on the table were arranged the medicine vials, a carafe, the necessary linen, and Kitty's English embroidery. On another table, near the bed, stood a candle, his medicine, and powders. The sick man, bathed, with smoothly brushed hair, was lying between clean sheets, and propped up by several pillows, was dressed in a clean night-shirt, the white collar of which came around his unnaturally thin neck. A new expression of hope shone in his eyes as he looked at Kitty.
The doctor whom Levin went for and found at the club was not the one who had been treating Nikolaï and had aroused his indignation. The new doctor brought his stethoscope and carefully sounded the sick man's lungs, shook his head, wrote a prescription, and gave exphcit directions first about the application of his remedies and then about the diet which he wished him to observe. He ordered fresh eggs, raw, or at least scarcely cooked, and Seltzer water with milk heated to a certain temperature. After he was gone, the sick man said a few words to his brother, but Levin heard only the last words: "....your Katya." But by the way he looked at Kitty, Levin knew that he said something in her praise. Then he called Katya, as he had named her: —
"I feel much better already," he said to her. "With you I should have got well long ago! how good everything is."
He took her hand and lifted it to his lips; but as if he feared that it might be unpleasant to her, he hesitated, put it down again and only caressed it. Kitty pressed his hand affectionately between her own.
