"Leave me alone with his highness," he ordered, with a glance around him.
The chamberlain, Andro, the footman obeyed his order.
The professor was a tall old man, heavily-built and strong; he approached the prince and lifted him in his arms, notwithstanding the leaden heaviness of hysteria. Thus he held him, merely with his arms around him, upon the couch and looked deep into his eyes, with hypnotic glances. Suddenly Othomar ceased his cries; his voice was hushed. His head fell feebly upon Barzia's shoulder. The professor continued to hold him in his arms. The prince became calm, like a quieted child, without Barzia's having uttered a word.
"May I request your highness to go to bed?" said the professor, with a gentle voice of command.
He assisted Othomar to get up and himself lit the light in the bedroom and helped the prince off with his coat.
"What has made your highness' ear bleed?" asked Barzia, whose fingers were soiled with clotted blood.
"A revolver-shot," Othomar began, faintly; his closed and averted eyes told the rest.
The professor said nothing more. As though Othomar were a child, he went on helping him, washed his ear, his neck, his hands, with a mother's gentleness. Then he made him lie down in bed, covered him over, tidying the room like a servant. Then he went and sat by the bed, where Othomar lay staring with strange, wide-open eyes: he took the prince's hand and sat thus for a long time, looking softly down upon him. The light behind, turned down low, threw Barzia's large head into the shadow and just glanced upon his bald cranium, from which a few grey locks hung down his neck. At last he said, gently:
"Your highness wishes to get well, do you not?"
"Yes," said Othomar, in spite of himself.