A vision of his mother's warning and sorrows was presented to his benighted intelligence and made him cry with terror and shame. The conflicting emotions were too much for the sadly undermined constitution.
"The wicked gnomes!" he whispered with audible scorn and contempt in his blazing eyes, as if sudden madness had seized on him, and then tried to curse her, but not another word escaped his tightly closed lips, though the blood began to gush from them.
The truth, so cruelly thrust upon him, ended his life's drama; his eyes closed, he fell in a heap to the floor.
The pitying guests stood helplessly around him and did not know what to do. Mr. Ogden was the first one who had presence of mind to send to the nearest village in search of a doctor.
The beautiful Cleopatra sat there as pale as a ghost and was afraid to go near the prostrate form of her unhappy husband, fearing that someone might lift the veil and show the audience the ugliness of her real self. A feeling of restlessness rushed upon her as if the shameful story were being written on her flushed face. She could not endure it any longer and left the dining room.
Mr. Ogden did not notice her departure, and busied himself around the dying man, asking what he could do for him. The poor man pointed to a letter in his side pocket where the addresses of his friends in Dresden were written down.
"The gnomes! ... the gnomes!" he stammered once more as the shadow of death began to close in upon him. The blood streamed out incessantly, and before the aid of a doctor could be secured, he was a corpse.