"I am in less pain," he said, and then she began making plans for the future--he smiled sadly.
No man could die with a better grace, and yet it was hard to die.
The catastrophe had roused universal sympathy. The terrible news had spread like wildfire through the city and a sort of panic fell on the rank and fashion of Rome. No one, that day, who had ever spoken a spiteful or a flippant word against Sterzl or his sister, failed to feel a prick of remorse. Every one came or sent to the palazetto to enquire for them. Now and again the baroness would come in triumphantly, in her hand a particularly distinguished visiting-card with its corner turned down, and rustle up to the bedside: "Ilsenbergh came himself to the door to ask after you!"
Late in the day he fell into an uneasy sleep; Zinka and the general did not quit the room. The window was open but the air that blew in through the Venetian blinds was damp and sultry. The street was strewn with straw; the roll of the carriages in the Corso came, dulled by distance, up to the chamber of death. Then twilight fell and the rumbling echoes were still. Presently, the slow irregular tramp of a crowd broke the silence, with the accompaniment of a solemn but dismal chant Zinka sprang up to close the window; but she was not quick enough. The sleeper had opened his weary eyes and was listening--: "A funeral!" he muttered.
After this he could not rest, and his sufferings began once more. He tossed on his pillow, talked of his will, begging the general to make a note of certain trifling alterations; and when Zinka entreated him not to torment himself but to think of that by-and-bye, he shook his head, and murmured in a voice that was hoarse and tremulous with pain: "No, I am in a hurry ... time presses ... railway fever ... railway fever ..."
When Zinka, unable to control herself, was leaving the room to hide her tears, he desired her to remain:
"Only stop by me ... do not leave me, Zini," he said. "Cry if it is a relief to you ... but stay here ... poor little Butterfly!... yes, you will miss me...."
Once only did he lose his self-command. It was late in the evening. He had begged them to send to the embassy for an English newspaper which would give some information as to a certain political matter in which he was particularly interested; the ambassador himself brought it to his bedside.
"How are you?... how are you now?" he asked with sincere emotion ... "You were quite right, Sterzl. Ignatiev has done exactly as you said; you have a wonderful power of divination ... I shall miss you desperately when you go to Constantinople...." and his excellency fairly broke down.
There was a painful pause. "I am going further than Constantinople...." Sterzl murmured at length. "I should like to know who will get my place...." His voice failed him and he groaned as he hid his face in the pillow.