"What is the matter?"
She answered in a low voice:
"The child is much worse. Come quickly, signor."
"Juliana, I am going out for a moment. Cristina will stay with you. I will return immediately."
I left the room and ran into Raymond's room.
"Ah! Tullio, the child is dying," cried my mother in despair, bending over the cradle. "Look! Look at him!"
I bent over the cradle. A rapid change had taken place, unexpected, apparently inexplicable, frightful. The little face had become of an ashen color, the lips had blanched, the eyes were faded, dull, lifeless. The poor creature seemed to be under the effect of some violent poison.
My mother told me, in a choking voice:
"An hour ago he seemed quite well. He coughed a little, but that was all. I went out and left Anna in the room. I thought I should find him still asleep; he seemed sleepy. I returned and found him in this condition. Touch him: he is almost cold!"
I touched his forehead and his cheek. The temperature, in fact, had gone down.