And yet now, when they beheld once more the halls which they had left in the blaze of the carnival time, robbed of all their ornaments, and the sisters of charity moving softly up and down the long row of sick-beds, soothing a moan of pain here and mixing a cooling drink there; and the grotesque frescoes on the bare walls no longer concealed by tall plants; and outside the window the pure sunlight shimmering through the green treetops, instead of the midnight stars looking in upon a merry feast--such mingled feelings came over them that neither could utter a word. They started to look for their friends. But strange faces only looked up at them from their beds of pain. Finally, a young doctor gave them the desired information. The halls down below here were already full when the two gentlemen had been brought in. So they had willingly acceded to their request to have a room to themselves, and had quartered them in the top story. He offered to guide them up there himself; but this Schnetz gratefully declined, not wishing to take him away from his patients. So they mounted to the corridor of the top story, and at the very first door which they came to they heard a voice from the room within that caused them to start. It was a soft, girlish voice reading something aloud--verses, as it seemed. "It isn't likely they are in here," muttered Schnetz, "unless they have been seized with a pious fit, and have consented to let a sister of charity come in and edify them with her hymn-book. Well, there have been instances.--But no, this hymn-book has never seen the inside of a church, at all events." They listened, and distinctly heard the lines. "'Holy Maid of Orleans, pray for us!'" cried Schnetz. "I must be greatly mistaken in my man, if Elfinger isn't found somewhere near when Schiller is being spouted." Without stopping to knock, he softly opened the door, and entered with Felix. It was a high but not a very large room, whose only window opened on the rear of the garden. Only a single ray of the afternoon sunshine streamed through the gray blind and fell upon one of the beds that stood near the wall on the right; while the other cot, opposite it, was surrounded by a high Spanish screen, and was pushed back so as to be entirely in the shade. On the bed to the right lay Rosenbusch, covered over with a thin blanket, the upper part of his body propped up into a half-sitting posture by pillows, holding a sketchbook on his knees and busily engaged in drawing. Except that his face was somewhat paler, he showed no traces of the hardships he had suffered; but on the contrary, his bright eyes beamed from under a red fez as merrily, and he looked as fresh as he lay there in his loose jacket, with his carefully-tended beard, as though he had made his toilet for the express purpose of receiving visits.