Opening his eyes with a start, they settle upon the crucifix pendent from the neck of the sweet-faced nun.
"Poor fellow! I shot too straight!"
Again he gazes on that sacred symbol.
"'Thou that takest away—takest away—away the sin of the world'—his sin, poor fellow! Mine too!"
Staring at his upturned palm lying on the spread, he exclaims:
"See that mark? It's blood! I shot too straight."
Higher rise the notes of the violin.
Rapturously those grand eyes turn toward the ceiling.
"Look! look! Wild flowers arch the mountains! See the graves, Karl! The clouds drop wreaths!"
There is another quiet lapse, then the patient tosses feverishly. The weeping nun says: