ng in a draught at the
shop where he bought the lemons; he feels alternately hot and cold, and
he begs permission to lie down for a little while on his bed.

'Feeling her humanity appealed to, the Countess volunteers to make the
lemonade herself. My Lord takes the Courier by the arm, leads him
aside, and whispers these words to him: "Watch her, and see that she
puts nothing into the lemonade; then bring it to me with your own
hands; and, then, go to bed, if you like."

'Without a word more to his wife, or to the Baron, my Lord leaves the
room.

'The Countess makes the lemonade, and the Courier takes it to his
master.

'Returning, on the way to his own room, he is so weak, and feels, he
says, so giddy, that he is obliged to support himself by the backs of
the chairs as he passes them. The Baron, always considerate to persons
of low degree, offers his arm. "I am afraid, my poor fellow," he says,
"that you are really ill." The Courier makes this extraordinary answer:
"It's all over with me, Sir: I have caught my death."

'The Countess is naturally startled. "You are not an old man," she
says, trying to rouse the Courier's spirits. "At your age, catching
cold doesn't surely mean catching your death?" The Courier fixes his
eyes despairingly on the Countess.

"My lungs are weak, my Lady," he says; "I have already had two attacks
of bronchitis. The second time, a great physician joined my own doctor
in attendance on me. He considered my recovery almost in the light of
a miracle. Take care of yourself," he said. "If you have a third
attack of bronchitis, as certainly as two and two make four, you will
be a dead man. I feel the same inward shivering, my Lady, that I felt
on those two former occasions--and I tell you again, I have caught my
death in Venice."

'Speaking some comforting words, the Baron leads him to his room. The
Countess is left alone on the stage.

'She seats herself, and looks towards the door by which the Courier has
been led out. "Ah! my poor fellow," she says, "if you could only
change constitutions with my Lord, what a happy result would follow for
the Baron and for me! If you could only get cured of a trumpery cold
with a little hot lemonade, and if he could only catch his death in
your place--!"

'She suddenly pauses--considers for a while--and springs to her feet,
with a cry of triumphant surprise: the wonderful, the unparalleled
idea has crossed her mind like a flash of lightning. Make the tw