"What am I doing, what can I do?" said her husband with a faltering voice.
"You see," replied his wife, winding her arm round his like a tender creeping plant round a sturdy oak, "if you slay, I must die also. What the condemned man in the neighbouring house suffers that I also must endure—his terror, his despair, his death-struggle. Oh! my husband, have pity upon me. Be merciful now to him who has offended, that I also may find mercy with God!"
Vértessy's mind was much disturbed. And now the doctor approached him and solemnly observed:
"General, I fancy it would not be the first instance of a capitally condemned felon being pardoned on the plea of such a sufferer."
Vértessy regarded him abstractedly as if to beg him to proceed.
"I knew of a similar case when I was in service at the fortress of Comorn, when a youth, who had thrice deserted the ranks, was pardoned in consequence of a similar petition."
"And do you believe that it would do good?"
"My dear sir, when the exaltation of the nerves has reached such a degree as this, the imagination is omnipotent, good news may give life, bad news death. A soothing thought in such cases is worth all the drugs in the world."
Vértessy kissed the forehead of his pale, suffering well-beloved, and cried with a manly emphasis, which instantly inspired self-confidence:
"I will save him!"