The illness dried him up still more, burnt something out of him.
Inwardly he seemed to become lighter, more transparent, more resigned.
His eyes are still keener, his glance piercing. He listens attentively
as though recalling something which he has forgotten or as though
waiting for something new and unknown. In Yassnaya Polyana he seemed to
me a man who knew everything and had nothing more to learn--a man who
had settled every question.