, either with the doctors, or without
them, Darvid entered Cara's chamber; where, in obedience to
medical advice, they had not darkened the great windows through
which light was pouring in its golden torrents. This light
penetrated the yellowish folds of cretonne at the walls, lent
apparent life to forget-me-nots and rose-buds scattered over
them, played among the palm leaves, lay on the flowery carpet,
struck out golden sparks on the gilding of toys and books, played
with rainbow gleams on surfaces inlaid with mother-of-pearl. In
this gleaming light, near the mirror, which was surrounded by
porcelain flowers, amid flasks gilded and enamelled, a rosy Cupid
was drawing a bow with a golden arrow, a marble cat lay at the
feet of a statuette, which held a dove rat its bosom; on a small
desk of lapis-lazuli as blue as the sky, a bronze statuette
personifying the Dew was inclining gracefully an amphora above an
open book, skeins of various colored silks were hanging at little
looms. Amid all these tones of spring, joyous themes, light and
graceful forms, the sunlight went to Cara's bed, and, from the
white cambric on which she was lying, increased the paleness of
her yellow hair. On the pillow with lace it was difficult at
first to distinguish where the sunrays ended and the maiden's
hair began. But, amid the yellow of the rays and the hair, her
oval, delicate face in its bright flush seemed a scarlet flower.
Her lips, blooming with a bloody purple, her eyes, flashing with
a dry fire, were silent. But her breast labored with hoarse,
hurried breathing, and a cough shook her body, the slender,
fragile form of which was indicated beneath the blue silk
coverlet, like a fine piece of sculpture.

When Darvid entered the chamber a dark-robed woman drew back from
the bed of the suffering Cara, without the least rustle, and
stood at some distance with a pained, pallid face under smoothly
dressed hair of the same hue exactly as that which, in
dishevelled abundance, lay mingled with pale sunrays on the
pillow of the sick girl.

"How is it with you, little one?" asked Darvid. "Perhaps you feel
somewhat better? Perhaps you would like something?"

For its only answer the face, which was like a scarlet flower,
turned toward the wall, covered with forget-me-nots and
rose-buds.

"Why not answer, Cara? Perhaps you would like something? Only
say, only whisper. Say into my ear. I would bring you anything,
get it, buy it. Perhaps you woul