"I don't care for that."
"He's sent for you himself."
The Countess had moved to my side.
"You must go," she said now, laying her hand on my arm.
I turned to look at her. Her eyes were full of a vague alarm. I was like a man suddenly roused half-way through a vivid entrancing dream, unable still to believe that the real is true and the phantasm not the only substance.
"Come, come," repeated Wetter urgently and irritably. "You can't let him die without going to him."
"Go, Augustin," she whispered.
"Yes, I'll go. I'm going; I'm going at once," I stammered. "I'm ready, Wetter. Take me with you. Is he really dying?"
"So they say."
"Hammerfeldt dying! Yes, I'll come with you."