no one's aid,' Pavel Petrovitch
declared jerkily, 'and ... we must ... again ...' He tried to pull at
his moustaches, but his hand failed him, his eyes grew dim, and he lost
consciousness.

'Here's a pretty pass! A fainting fit! What next!' Bazarov cried
unconsciously, as he laid Pavel Petrovitch on the grass. 'Let's have a
look what's wrong.' He pulled out a handkerchief, wiped away the blood,
and began feeling round the wound.... 'The bone's not touched,' he
muttered through his teeth; 'the ball didn't go deep; one muscle,
_vastus externus_, grazed. He'll be dancing about in three weeks!...
And to faint! Oh, these nervous people, how I hate them! My word, what
a delicate skin!'

'Is he killed?' the quaking voice of Piotr came rustling behind his
back.

Bazarov looked round. 'Go for some water as quick as you can, my good
fellow, and he'll outlive us yet.'

But the modern servant seemed not to understand his words, and he did
not stir. Pavel Petrovitch slowly opened his eyes. 'He will die!'
whispered Piotr, and he began crossing himself.

'You are right ... What an imbecile countenance!' remarked the wounded
gentleman with a forced smile.

'Well, go for the water, damn you!' shouted Bazarov.

'No need.... It was a momentary _vertigo_.... Help me to sit up ...
there, that's right.... I only need something to bind up this scratch,
and I can reach home on foot, or you can send a droshky for me. The
duel, if you are willing, shall not be renewed. You have behaved
honourably ... to-day, to-day--observe.'

'There's no need to recall the past,' rejoined Bazarov; 'and as regards
the future, it's not worth while for you to trouble your head about
that either, for I intend being off without delay. Let me bind up your
leg now; your wound's not serious, but it's always best to stop
bleeding. But first I must bring this corpse to his senses.'

Bazarov shook Piotr by the collar, and sent him for a droshky.

'Mind you don't frighten my brother,' Pavel Petrovitch said to him;
'don't dream of informing him.'

Piotr flew off; and while he was running for a droshky, the two
antagonists sat on the ground and said nothing. Pavel Petrovitch tried
not to look at Bazarov; he did not want to be reconciled to him in any
case; he was ashamed of his own haughtiness, of his failure; he was
ashamed of the whole position he had brought about, even while he felt
it could not have ended in a more favourable manner. 'At any rate,
there