He began to cry and roar, and he beat his head against the wall, but the more he cried the longer his ears grew; they grew, and grew, and became hairy towards the points.
At the sound of his loud outcries a beautiful little Marmot that lived on the first floor came into the room. Seeing the puppet in such grief she asked earnestly:
"What has happened to you, my dear fellow-lodger?"
"I am ill, my dear little Marmot, very ill, and my illness frightens me. Do you understand counting a pulse?"
"A little."
"Then feel and see if by chance I have got fever."
The little Marmot raised her right fore-paw, and, after having felt Pinocchio's pulse, she said to him, sighing:
"My friend, I am grieved to be obliged to give you bad news!"
"What is it?"
"You have got a very bad fever!"