“Ah!” exclaimed Tito, overwhelmed by a horrible suspicion, “is it possible...?”
“I can tell thee nothing more,” answered Death. “Enter, it grows late.”
“You distract me.”
“Quiet thyself; all will be well. I have promised thee supreme happiness.”
“Then we are friends? You do not intend to kill me or Elena?”
“Do not worry,” replied Death, with a sadness and solemnity, a tenderness and gayety, with so many and different tones of voice, that Tito gave up at once the hope of understanding him.
“Wait!” he said, finally, seeing that the shrouded being was moving away. “Repeat the hours, once more, to me, that I may make no mistake. If you are in the sick chamber, and do not look at the patient, it signifies that he will die of the disease.”
“Certainly; but should I face him, he dies during the day. If I lie in the same bed, he has three hours of life. If thou seest him in my arms, only one hour remains; but when thou seest me kiss his brow, say a prayer for his soul.”
“And you will not speak one word to me?”