chamberlain, pale as death.

"There might have been an accident...."

They were silent for a moment; their glances were full of understanding;
a shudder crept down their backs. The chill night seemed to be
descending over the palace as with clouds of evil omen.

"And ... the little prince?..." asked the chamberlain, shivering.

Xardi shrugged his shoulders; his eyes grew moist, through innate,
immemorial love for his sovereigns:

"Dying," he answered, faintly.

6

The crown-prince passed through the anteroom: one of the doctors stood
dipping poultices into a basin of ice; a valet was bringing in a pail of
fresh ice. The door of the bedroom was open and Othomar remained
standing at the door. The little prince lay on his camp-bed, talking in
a low, sing-song tone; the empress, pale, suffering, bearing up in spite
of everything, sat beside him with Princess Thera.

The emperor exchanged brief words with the two other doctors, whose
features were overcast with a stark hopelessness; a mordant anguish
distorted Oscar's face, which became furrowed with deep wrinkles:

"My God, he doesn't know me, he doesn't know me!" Othomar heard the
emperor complain.

"Nor me," murmured the empress.

"What can it be? What, what, what can it be?" sang the little prince;
and his usually shrill little voice sounded soft as a bird's melody: it
was as though he were playing by himself. "I'm to have a present from my
brother, from my brother, something nice!" he sang on.

The empress could distinguish his words, but she did not understand; and
when he went on to sing the name of the crown-prince, with his title:

"Othomar, O Othomar of Xara, of Xara!..." she turned to the door and
gently implored:

"Othomar, he's calling your name; come, perhaps he will know you!"

Othomar approached; he went past the emperor and knelt down by the bed;
a smile lit up Berengar's little face.

"He is becoming calmer," said the kind doctor, whose tears were running
down his cheeks, to Oscar. "Does your majesty see? The prince recognizes
his highness the duke...."

A note of gladness sounded in his voice.

But a violent jealousy distorted the emperor's features:

"No, no," he said.

"Certainly, sir, only look," the doctor insisted, his hope reviving.

"O Othomar, O Othomar of Xara!" sang the little prince: he had
recognized his brother, but did not see him in the flesh, saw him only
in his waking dream, through the mist of his fever.

"