Marco was taken away. The master, mistress, and women retired in haste; the surgeon and his assistant remained behind, and closed the door.
Signor Mequinez attempted to lead Marco to a distant room, but it was impossible; he seemed rooted to the pavement.
“What is it?” he asked. “What is the matter with my mother? What are they doing to her?”
And then Mequinez said softly, still trying to draw him away: “Here! Listen to me. I will tell you now. Your mother is ill; she must undergo a little operation; I will explain it all to you: come with me.”
“No,” replied the lad, resisting; “I want to stay here. Explain it to me here.”
The engineer heaped words on words, as he drew him away; the boy began to grow terrified and to tremble.
Suddenly an acute cry, like that of one wounded to the death, rang through the whole house.
The boy responded with another desperate shriek, “My mother is dead!”
The doctor appeared on the threshold and said, “Your mother is saved.”
The boy gazed at him for a moment, and then flung himself at his feet, sobbing, “Thanks, doctor!”