doctor was still there; he could not leave them, as he
was their friend. Kate had clung to him: "Help! Help my child!" Now he
was sitting with Paul Schlieben downstairs in his study; Kate had
wished to remain alone with the sick boy, she only wanted to know that
he was near.

The two men sat in silence with a glass of strong wine before them.
"Drink, do drink, my dear friend," Paul Schlieben had said to the
doctor; but he did not drink himself. How will she stand it, how will
she stand it? That buzzed in his head the whole time. He was
wrapped in thought, and there were deep lines on his forehead. And the
doctor did not disturb him.

Kate was on her knees upstairs. She had sunk down in front of the
chair in which she had watched through all those anxious nights, and
was holding her hands pressed against her upturned face. She was
seeking the God on high who had once upon a time laid the child so
benignantly in her path, and was now going to cruelly tear it away from
her again. She cried to God in her heart.

"O God, O God, don't take him from me. Thou must not take him from
me. I have nothing else in the world beside him. God, God!"

Her surroundings, all her other possessions--also her husband--were
forgotten. She had only the child now. That one child that was so dear,
so good, so clever, so excellent, so obedient, so beautiful, so
charming, so extremely lovable, that had made her life so happy, so
rich that she would be poor, poor as a beggar were he to leave her.

"Woelfchen, my Woelfchen!"

How dear he had always, always been; so entirely her child. She did
not remember anything more about the tears she had shed on his account;
if she had ever shed any, they had been tears of joy, yes, only tears
of joy. No, she could not do without him.

Starting up from the position in which she had been praying she
dragged herself to his bedside. She took his body, which was growing
cold, into her arms and laid it on her breast in her despair, and her
glowing breath passed all over him. She wanted to let all her warmth
stream into him, to hold him fast to this earth with the force of her
will-power. When his breast fought for air, her breast fought too, when
his heart-beat flagged, hers flagged too. She felt that his
coldness was making her cold, that her arms were stiffening. But she
did not let him go. She fought with Death standing at the head of the
bed--who was stronger, Death or her love, the mother's love?

Nob