He began to cry, to scream, to knock his head against the wall, but the more he shrieked, the longer and the more hairy grew his ears.
At those piercing shrieks, a Dormouse came into the room, a fat little Dormouse, who lived upstairs. Seeing Pinocchio so grief-stricken, she asked him anxiously:
“What is the matter, dear little neighbor?”
“I am sick, my little Dormouse, very, very sick—and from an illness which frightens me! Do you understand how to feel the pulse?”
“A little.”
“Feel mine then and tell me if I have a fever.”
The Dormouse took Pinocchio’s wrist between her paws and, after a few minutes, looked up at him sorrowfully and said: “My friend, I am sorry, but I must give you some very sad news.”
“What is it?”
“You have a very bad fever.”
“But what fever is it?”