Painful days followed for Fedor Ivanitch.

He found himself in a continual fever.

Every morning he made for the post, and tore open letters and papers in agitation, and nowhere did he find anything which could confirm or disprove the fateful rumour.

Sometimes he was disgusting to himself.

"What am I about," he thought, "waiting, like a vulture for blood, for certain news of my wife's death ?" He went to the Kalitins every day, but things had grown no easier for him there; the lady of the house was obviously sulky with him, and received him very condescendingly.