'I'm here,' was heard Bazarov's voice from Arkady's room.
Vassily Ivanovitch turned round quickly. 'Aha! you wanted to pay a visit to your friend; but you were too late, amice, and we have already had a long conversation with him. Now we must go in to tea, mother summons us. By the way, I want to have a little talk with you.'
'What about?'
'There's a peasant here; he's suffering from icterus....
'You mean jaundice?'
'Yes, a chronic and very obstinate case of icterus. I have prescribed him centaury and St. John's wort, ordered him to eat carrots, given him soda; but all that's merely palliative measures; we want some more decided treatment. Though you do laugh at medicine, I am certain you can give me practical advice. But we will talk of that later. Now come in to tea.'
Vassily Ivanovitch jumped up briskly from the garden seat, and hummed from Robert le Diable— 'The rule, the rule we set ourselves,
To live, to live for pleasure!'
'Singular vitality!' observed Bazarov, going away from the window.
