Olga poured out the dose, controlling her hands with difficulty.
"Not a drop more," he reiterated. "There's sudden death in that.
Finished? Then give it to me!"
He raised Violet up in bed and took the glass from Olga. A curious perfume filled the room—a scent familiar but elusive. Olga stood breathing it, wondering what it brought to mind.
Max held the glass against the pale lips, and suddenly she remembered.
It was the magic draught he had given to her two days before.
Violet seemed to be unconscious, but she drank nevertheless very slowly, with long pauses in between. Gradually the glassy look passed from her eyes, the long lashes drooped.
Max held out the empty glass to Olga. "You go back to bed now," he said.
"She will sleep for some time."
"I can't leave her," Olga whispered.
He was lowering the senseless girl upon the pillow and made no reply. Having done so, he stooped and set his ear to her heart for a space of several seconds. Then he stood up and turned quietly round.
"You can't do anything more. Thanks for fetching that stuff! Why didn't you put on your slippers as I told you?"
His manner was perfectly normal. He left the bedside and took up the medicine-bottle, holding it against the lamp.