in bed, give him some lemon to drink so that he can perspire, and
then an aperient. He has eaten something that has disagreed with him,
or he's caught cold."

But the doctor had to be telephoned for at noon. The boy was
slightly delirious and had a great deal of fever.

"Scarlet fever!" The doctor examined his chest and then pulled up
the cover again very carefully. "But the rash isn't quite out yet."

"Scarlet fever?" Kate thought she would have sunk down on her
knees--oh, she had always been so terribly afraid of that.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

The clear frosty weather with the bright sunshine and a sky that was
almost as blue as in summer was over. Grey days with a heavy atmosphere
hung over the roof of the villa; Kate, who was standing at the window
in the sick-room, staring out at the tops of the pines that were
mourning in the dull mist with tired eyes, thought she had never seen
anything greyer.

The disease had seized hold of the boy with powerful grip, as though
his vigorous, well-nourished body were just the sort of hot-bed for the
flames of the fever to rage in. The doctor shook his head: the scarlet
fever had taken such a mild form everywhere else except in this case.
And he warned them against the boy catching cold, prescribed this and
that, did his best--not only as his duty, no, but because he felt such
deep and hearty sympathy for them--he had always been so fond of the
robust lad. They all did their best. Every precaution was taken, every
care--everything, everything was to be done for him.

Kate was untiring. She had refused the assistance of a nurse; she
violently opposed the wishes both of her husband and her old friend;
no, she wanted to nurse her child alone. A mother does not grow tired,
oh no.

Paul had never believed that his wife could do so much and be so
patient at the same time--she, that nervous woman, to be so untiring,
so undaunted. She had always had a light step, now she could not even
be heard when she glided through the sick-room; now she was on the left
side of the bed, now on the right. She, whose strength gave way so
easily even if her intentions were good, was always, always on the
spot. There were many nights in which she did not get an hour's sleep.
Next morning she would sit like a shadow in the large arm-chair near
the bed, but still she was full of joy: Wolfgang had slept almost two
hours!

"Don't do too much, don't do too much