his friends, "take me where you
please, do what you can; but for God's sake, save me quickly! I shall
kill myself!"

The artist turned pale and was helpless. The medical student, too,
almost shed tears, but considering that doctors ought to be cool and
composed in every emergency said coldly:

"It's a nervous breakdown. But it's nothing. Let us go at once to the
doctor."

"Wherever you like, only for God's sake, make haste!"

"Don't excite yourself. You must try and control yourself."

The artist and the medical student with trembling hands put Vassilyev's
coat and hat on and led him out into the street.

"Mihail Sergeyitch has been wanting to make your acquaintance for a long
time," the medical student said on the way. "He is a very nice man and
thoroughly good at his work. He took his degree in 1882, and he has
an immense practice already. He treats students as though he were one
himself."

"Make haste, make haste!..." Vassilyev urged.

Mihail Sergeyitch, a stout, fair-haired doctor, received the friends
with politeness and frigid dignity, and smiled only on one side of his
face.

"Rybnikov and Mayer have spoken to me of your illness already," he said.
"Very glad to be of service to you. Well? Sit down, I beg...."

He made Vassilyev sit down in a big armchair near the table, and moved a
box of cigarettes towards him.

"Now then!" he began, stroking his knees. "Let us get to work.... How
old are you?"

He asked questions and the medical student answered them. He asked
whether Vassilyev's father had suffered from certain special diseases,
whether he drank to excess, whether he were remarkable for cruelty or
any peculiarities. He made similar inquiries about his grandfather,
mother, sisters, and brothers. On learning that his mother had a
beautiful voice and sometimes acted on the stage, he grew more animated
at once, and asked:

"Excuse me, but don't you remember, perhaps, your mother had a passion
for the stage?"

Twenty minutes passed. Vassilyev was annoyed by the way the docto r kept
stroking his knees and talking of the same thing.

"So far as I understand your questions, doctor," he said, "you want to
know whether my illness is hereditary or not. It is not."

The doctor proceeded to ask Vassilyev whether he had had any secret
vices as a boy, or had received injuries to his head; whether he had had
any aberrations, any peculiarities, or exceptional propensities. Half
the questions usually asked