And in a wondrously sweet voice, low, very low, like the notes of an Æolian harp, he began to sing a Swedish song, as his mother might have sung it to him years ago.
He was leaning back again on his pillow. Through the deep stillness of the room Oswald's sobs alone were heard; the eyes of the other two men were filled with tears.
"Is that you, Oswald?" asked Bruno; "why do you cry? Good evening, doctor; where do you come from? I suppose I am at the end of my life. Where is Baron Oldenburg? Give me your hand. You have been very kind to me. Doctor, must I die? Yes?--tell me, I am no coward; I knew it yesterday already; must I die? Then, Oswald, one more request; bend over me, I will whisper it in your ear."
Oswald did as he was asked.
He rose and went to the door. Oldenburg had followed him.
"I know what Bruno wants. He has asked for her a hundred times. I will call her. It is the last prayer of a dying man."
He went out; Oswald approached the bed again.
"Is she coming?"
"Yes."
"Put my pillow a little higher, Oswald, and put the lamp there, so that the light falls right upon her. Thank you; that is right."