"Yes, a little, Tullio. But do not let that worry you."
"Perhaps he has taken cold?"
"It seems impossible that he should have taken cold, with so many precautions."
A flash passed through my brain. A great internal trembling assailed me suddenly. All at once my mother's presence became insupportable. I was agitated, I was discountenanced, I feared I would betray myself. The inner idea threw out such flashes that fear overtook me: "Something must show on my face." This fear was vain; but I could not command myself. I made a step forward and bent over the cradle.
My mother perceived something; but she interpreted it in my favor, for she added:
"How frightened you are! Don't you hear how calm his breathing is? Don't you see how peaceful his sleep is?"
But, in spite of the words she spoke, there was anxiety in her voice, and she did not succeed in hiding her apprehension from me.
"You are right, it is nothing," I answered, doing myself violence. "Do you remain here?"
"Yes, until Anna returns."
I left the room. I went to Juliana. She expected me. All was ready for her dinner, which I habitually took with her so that the invalid's meal should be less sad and that my example and my pleading should persuade her to eat. In my acts, in my words, I showed myself unusually exalted. I was a prey to a strange superexcitation of which I had an exact consciousness; but, although capable of watching myself, I was not able to moderate it. Contrary to my habit, I drank two or three glasses of the wine prescribed for Juliana. I also wished her to take more than usual.