"Does it hurt?" asked the count. "Horribly!" replied the young girl in a voice that was scarcely audible. The count took from the casket a small syringe with a sharp steel point, filled it with fluid from the bottle, and injected the contents into the flesh of the arm, following the direction of the swelling. Clara's face showed even greater agony, the Countess Frankenstein watched the count's manipulations with the deepest anxiety, Stielow wrung his hands in silent grief, and Father Ignatius moved his lips in prayer. The count took another bottle, half filled a glass with pure water, and slowly and carefully counted the drops as he let them fall from the fluid in the phial. The water grew blood red, a strong, peculiar odour spread through the room. The count touched the patient's brow lightly with his finger. She opened her eyes; her countenance still expressed burning pain. "Drink this!" said the count in a gentle but commanding tone. At the same time he carefully raised her head and placed the glass to her lips. She took the contents. His eyes watched her attentively. After a short time her face grew calmer, the contraction from the violence of the pain became less. She opened her eyes, and drew in a deep breath as if relieved. "Ah! what good that does me!" she whispered. An expression of satisfaction appeared on the count's face, then he said in a grave, solemn voice: "I have done all that is possible to human art and knowledge, let us hope God's hand will shed a blessing upon my work. Pray to God, countess, fervently and with all your soul, that He may give my remedy strength to overcome the poison." "Yes, yes," said the young girl ardently, and her eyes sought her lover; "come to me, my beloved friend!" Herr von Stielow hastened to the bed and sank down before it with folded hands. "I cannot put my hands together," she said in a low voice, looking at him affectionately, "so let me lay my hand in yours, and our united prayer shall ascend to heaven, that eternal mercy may permit us to remain together." And she began whisperingly to pray, whilst the young officer's eyes were raised upwards with a look of the deepest devotion. Suddenly a shudder passed through the form of the young countess, she withdrew her hand with a look of pain, and gazed with horror at her lover. "Oh!" she cried in a trembling voice, "our prayers cannot really be united; what a dreadful thought, we do not pray to the same God!" "Clara!" cried the young man, "what an idea! there is but one God in heaven, and He will hear us!"