d like something? Have something,
something to look at. You can have anything--anything, only say
what it is--whisper in my ear."

But in vain he bent low, brought his ear to her lips almost, no
sound came from them, no whisper, only her face turned away still
more and her breath became hoarser and heavier.

How many times did he go there and put to her the question:
"Would you like something? Will you tell what?" He thought that
the young girl, though sick, must remember some wish, some desire
which, if granted, might give her relief and some comfort. He had
power to gratify every wish, even the wildest, but had not the
power of drawing from her lips even one word, and that the
briefest.

Some days passed. In front of the mansion the carriages of
doctors were arriving and departing continually, meeting on the
way a multitude of equipages from which men came out and entered
the study of the master of the mansion, or only came to the
entrance to inscribe their names in a book furnished by the Swiss
in livery. Once, when coming home, Darvid met on the stairway two
men who spoke a foreign language. He was eloquent, triumphant.
These were allies from abroad, coming to strengthen the local
forces, which joined them in full array for a consultation. Again
a cloud of black garments moved from the blue room to the chamber
which was full of spring colors, of childhood's playthings, of
mother-of-pearl rainbow gleams. One more mountain of gold and of
intellect set up as a bulwark of defence near the bed of the sick
girl. When the cloud of black garments and serious faces had
vanished, the mother drew near:

"These gentlemen have wearied you. That is nothing. Because they
have come you will be well. Those are very wise men. The two who
have just come are Germans; throughout the whole world they are
famous. They will cure you to a certainty. But now you may
swallow a little of those excellent sweets which those gentlemen
let us give you. Or a drop of wine. Perhaps a spoonful, one
little spoonful of bouillon?"

Cara's only answer was to turn on her yellowish bed to the wall
sprinkled with spring flowers, her face in scarlet flushes.
Malvina, bending low, kissed the little hand, the heat of which
burnt her lips, and which trembled under those lips, like a leaf
in a blast of wind.

"Why not answer me, Cara? One word! only one short, little word!
Shall I give a drop of wine? Those gentlemen ordered it--will you
have it now? W