The evening passed, the night passed, the following morning passed. Nothing extraordinary happened. But the doctor, on his visit, did not conceal the fact that there existed a catarrh of the nasal mucosa and larger bronchi: a slight indisposition of no gravity whatever. Nevertheless, I perceived that he tried to dissimulate a certain uneasiness. He gave various orders, recommended the greatest prudence, promised to return during the day. My mother had no more rest.
On entering the alcove, I said to Juliana, in a low voice, without looking her in the face:
"He is getting worse."
And we were silent for a long time. At moments I arose and walked to the window to watch the snow. I walked about the room, the prey of unbearable anxiety. Juliana, her head buried in the pillow, was almost hidden beneath the covers. When I approached she opened her eyes, and gave me a rapid look, which told me nothing.
"Are you cold?"
"Yes."
But the room was warm. I returned ceaselessly to the window to watch the snow, and the whitened country on which the flakes continued to fall slowly. It was two o'clock in the afternoon. What was passing in the child's room? Nothing very extraordinary, certainly, since they had not called me. But my anxiety increased so much that I resolved to go to see. I opened the door.
"Where are you going?" cried Juliana, raising herself on her elbow.
"I am going downstairs for a moment. I will return immediately."
She remained raised on her elbow, very pale.