The count shook his head, and the nurse spoke. "There will be hope, madam, if this last medicine should take effect."
The Lady Adelaide pressed her lips upon the infant's forehead, and burst into tears.
"You will be ill, Adelaide," said her husband. "This incessant watching is bad for you. Let me persuade you to take rest."
She motioned in the negative.
"Indeed, madam, but you ought to do so," interrupted Lucrezia, who was present: "these many nights you have passed without sleep; and your health so delicate!"
"Lie down—lie down, my love," interposed her husband, "if only for a short time."
Again she refused; but at length they induced her to comply, her husband promising to watch over the child, and to let her know if there should be the slightest change in him. He passed his arms round his wife to lead her from the chamber, for she was painfully weak; but they had scarcely gone ten steps from the door, when a prolonged, shrill scream, as of one in unutterable terror, reached their ears. They rushed back again. The nurse sat, still supporting the child, but with her eyes dilating and fixed on one corner of the room, and her face rigid with horror. It was she who had screamed.
"My child! my child!" groaned the Lady Adelaide.
"Nurse, what in the name of the Holy Virgin is the matter?" exclaimed the count, perceiving no alteration in the infant. "You look as if you had seen a spectre!"
"I have seen one," shuddered the nurse.