"But, how can that be? He is acting the Christus every week and delighting the world?"
"Yes, that is just it! He acts, as a candle burns down while it shines--it is no longer the phosphorescence of genius, it is a light which feeds on his own life and consumes it."
"Merciful God!"
"And he wishes to die--that is unmistakable--that is why it is so hard to aid him. He will heed no counsel, follow no advice of the physician, do nothing which might benefit him. Now matters have gone so far that the doctor told us yesterday he might fall dead upon the stage at any hour--and we ought not to allow him to go on playing! But he cannot be prevented. He desires nothing more than death."
"What is the matter?" asked the pale lips of the countess.
"A severe case of heart disease, Countess, which might be arrested for several years by means of careful nursing, perfect rest, and strengthening food; but he has no means to obtain the better nourishment his condition requires, because he is too proud to be a burden on any one, and he lacks the ease of mind necessary to relieve his heart. Nursing is out of the question--he occupies, having given his own home to the poor when he left Ammergau, as you know, a miserable, damp room in a wretched tavern, just outside the village, and wanders about the mountains day and night. Of course speedy death is inevitable--hastened, moreover, by the exertions demanded by his part."
Ludwig Gross rose. "I do not know how you estimate the value of a poor man's life, Countess," he said bitterly--"I have merely done my duty by informing you of my friend's condition. The rest I must leave to you."
"Great Heaven! What shall I do! He rejects everything I offer. Perhaps you do not know that I gave him a fortune and he refused it."
Ludwig Gross fixed an annihilating glance upon her. "If you know no other way of rendering aid here save by money--I have nothing more to say."
He bowed slightly and left the room without waiting for an answer.