"two minutes more, if you please, dear ivan fedorovitch," said lizabetha prokofievna to her husband; "it seems to me that he is in a fever and delirious; you can see by his eyes what a state he is in; it is impossible to let him go back to petersburg tonight. can you put him up, lef nicolaievitch? i hope you are not bored, dear prince," she added suddenly to prince s. "alexandra, my dear, come here! your hair is coming down."