"Mame" (he sobs louder), "have pity!"
"Light my candle—make haste, make haste—"
"Ginzburg!" a shriek from his wife, and he awoke with a start.
"Ginzburg, the child is dying! Fly for the doctor."
Ginzburg cast a look at the child, a chill went through him, he ran to the door.
The doctor came in person.
"Our child is dying! Help save it!" wailed the unhappy mother, and he, Ginzburg, stood and shivered as with cold.
The doctor scrutinized the child, and said:
"The crisis is coming on." There was something dreadful in the quiet of his tone.
"What can be done?" and the Ginzburgs wrung their hands.