“He can go away again,” she answered.
There was a murmur outside; the bridegroom, too, was giving his advice.
“What will you do, my child?” said the old doctor, and looked searchingly into her eyes. Then she sank, weeping, on her knees by the bed, seized Paul’s powerless hand and pressed it to her eyes and mouth.
“Is that your firm resolution?” the old man asked. She nodded assent.
“And if he dies?”
“He will not die,” she said; “he must not die.”
The doctor smiled, sadly; “Very good,” he said, then, “stay with him a while, and renew the compresses every two minutes. I will insure quiet meanwhile.”
Soon the carriages were heard coming to the door and leaving the yard. An hour later the doctor re-entered the sick-room. “The house will soon be empty,” he said; “the ceremony is put off.”
“Put off?” she asked, anxiously.
The old man looked at her and shook his head. The human heart showed itself to him every day in new complications.