"He is becoming calmer," said the kind doctor, whose tears were running down his cheeks, to Oscar. "Does your majesty see? The prince recognizes his highness the duke...."
A note of gladness sounded in his voice.
But a violent jealousy distorted the emperor's features:
"No, no," he said.
"Certainly, sir, only look," the doctor insisted, his hope reviving.
"O Othomar, O Othomar of Xara!" sang the little prince: he had recognized his brother, but did not see him in the flesh, saw him only in his waking dream, through the mist of his fever.
"What do you bring me that's nice? Smaller than a horse, but heavier? Heavier? Oh, how heavy it is, how heavy, heavy, heavy!..."
His little voice came as though with an effort, as though he were lifting something; his convulsive, small, broad hands made a gesture of laborious lifting.
"Berengar," said the crown-prince; and his voice broke, his heart sank within him....
"Othomar," replied the child.