"But Your Highness gets no worse."
"How long can all this last?"
"A long time, a long time yet."
She looked at him, with her light eyes more troubled than ever: she looked at him, half consoled and uncertain.
"Do you believe that this can last, mein Herr?"
"I believe so," he said, still coldly but firmly.
"Shall I not die within a month or a year, mein Herr? Tell me."
Coldly, icily, he looked at her with his terribly penetrating eyes, which, however, were sad and even pitiful. Without hesitation he answered her.
"Neither within a month nor a year."
She bowed her head and sighed deeply: and an expression of comfort spread itself on the face worn with disease, which had neither beauty nor grace, but yet inspired interest and pity.