"Give me the wine--now I long to live." A universal movement of delight ran through the group of friends, and the countess held the foaming cup to his lips and supported his head with one hand, that he might drink. Then she gave him a little food and arranged him in a more comfortable position. "Come, let your wife nurse you!" she said so tenderly that all the listeners were touched. Then she laid a cooling bandage on his brow. "Ah, that does me good!" he said, but his eyes rested steadily on hers and he seemed to be alluding to something other than the external remedies, though these quickly produced their effect. His breathing gradually became more regular, his eyes closed, weakness asserted itself, but he slept soundly and quietly.
The physician withdrew to soothe the strangers waiting outside by an encouraging report. Only Freyer's friends and the pastor remained. The countess rose from beside the sleeper's couch and stretched her arms towards Heaven: "Lend him to me, Merciful God! I have forfeited my right to him--I say it in the presence of all these witnesses--but be merciful and lend him to me long enough for me to atone for my sin--that I may not be doomed to the torture of eternal remorse!" She spoke in a low tone in order not to rouse the slumberer, but in a voice which could be distinctly heard by the others. Her hands were clasped convulsively, her eyes were raised as if to pierce to the presence of God--her noble bearing expressed the energy of despair, striving with eternity for the space of a moment.
"Oh, God--oh, God, leave him with me! Hold back Thy avenging hand--grant a respite. Omnipotent One, first witness my atonement--first try whether I may not be saved by mercy! Friends, friends, pray with me!"
She clasped their hands as if imploring help. Her strength was failing. Trembling, she sank beside Ludwig, and pressed her forehead, bedewed with cold perspiration, against his arm.
All bared their heads and prayed in a low tone. Madeleine's breast heaved in mortal anguish and, almost stifled by her suppressed tears, she could only falter, half unconsciously: "Have pity upon us!"
Meanwhile the doctor had made all necessary preparations and was waiting for the patient to wake in order to remove him to his home.
The murmured prayers had ceased and the friends gathered silently around the bed. The countess again knelt beside the invalid, clasping him in a gentle embrace. Her tears were now checked lest she might disturb him, but they continued to flow in her heart. Her lips rested on his hand in a long kiss--the hand which had once supported and guided her now lay pale and thin on the coverlet, as if it would never more have strength to clasp hers with a loving pressure.
"Are you weeping, dear wife?"
That voice! She raised her head, but could not meet the eyes which gazed at her so tenderly. Dared she, the condemned one, enjoy the bliss of that look? No, never! And, without raising an eyelash, she hid her guilty brow with unutterable tenderness upon his breast. The feeble hand was raised and gently stroked her cheek, touching it as lightly as a withered leaf.
"Do not weep!" he whispered with the voice of a consoling angel: "Be calm--God is good, He will be merciful to us also."