Federico tried to persuade my mother to leave the room. But, bent over Raymond's face, almost touching it, she watched the slightest indications. One of her tears fell on the adored one's head. Quickly she dried it with her handkerchief; but she perceived that, on the head, the fontanels were sunk, depressed.
"Look, doctor!" she cried with fright.
And my eyes fixed themselves on that soft head, dotted with milk crusts, yellowish, like a piece of wax in the midst of which a hollow had been made. All the sutures were visible. The bluish temporal vein was lost beneath the crusts.
"Look, look!"
The vital energy, reawakened for a moment by the artificial means of ether, subsided. The death rattle began to acquire a characteristic sonorousness; the little hands fell along the sides, inert; the chin retracted more; the fontanels became deeper, and no longer pulsated. All at once, the dying child seemed to make an effort. Quickly the doctor raised the head. And there came from the little, violet mouth a small quantity of a whitish liquid. But in the effort made in vomiting the skin of the forehead was stretched, and through the epidermis the brown spots of an effusion could be seen appearing. My mother uttered a cry.
"Come, come, go with me," repeated my brother, trying to lead her away.
"No, no, no!"
The doctor administered another spoonful of ether. And the agony was prolonged, the torture was prolonged. The little hands rose up again; the fingers stirred vaguely; between the half-closed pupils the irides appeared, then disappeared by a retrograde movement, like two little faded flowers, like two little corollas that closed with a flaccid curling up.
Evening fell, and the Innocent was still in agony. On the window-panes shone a light like the glimmer of approaching dawn, due to the whiteness of the snow conflicting with the shadows.
"He is dead, he is dead!" cried my mother, who no longer heard the death rattle, and who saw a livid spot appear around the nose.