Once, when the crown-prince came to see Berengar, the doctors were with him; the fever had increased, but the little prince wanted to get out of bed; he was naughty, used ugly names, had even struck the good-natured, big-headed doctor and pummelled him with his little clenched fist. "As soon as you're better, Berengar," said Othomar, after first reproving him, "I shall make you a present." "What of?" asked the boy, eagerly. "But I am better now!" "No, no, you must do what the doctors tell you and not vex them." "And what will you give me then?" Othomar looked at him long and firmly. "What shall I have then?" repeated the child. "I mustn't tell you yet, Berengar; it's really rather big for you still." "What is it then? A horse?" "No, it's not as big as a horse, but heavier. Don't ask any more about it and also don't try and guess what it is, but be obedient: then you'll get better and then you shall have it." "Heavier than a horse and not so big!..." Berengar pondered, with glowing cheeks. With his head bowed on his breast, dragging his footsteps, Othomar returned to his room. He stayed there for hours, sitting silently, gloomily, in the same attitude; as usual, he did not appear at dinner and hardly ate what Andro brought him. Then he went to lie down on his couch, took up a book to read, but put it down again and raised himself up, as though with a sudden impulse: "Why not now?" he thought. "Why keep on postponing it?..." Night fell, but the upper corridors of the palace were not yet lighted; dragging his fatigue through this dusky shadow, Othomar went to the emperor's anterooms. The chamberlain announced him. Oscar sat at his writing-table, pen in hand. "Am I disturbing you, papa? Or can I speak to you?" "No, you're not disturbing me.... Have you been to see mamma?" "Yes, this afternoon; she was pretty well, but Berengar's temperature was higher." The emperor glanced up at him: "Worse than this morning?" "I don't know: he was rather feverish." The emperor rose: "Do you want to talk to me?" "Yes, papa." "Wait a moment, then. I've not been to Berengar yet to-day." He went out, leaving the door ajar. Othomar remained alone. He sat down. He looked round the great work-room, which he knew so well from their morning consultations with the chancellor. Lately, however, he had not attended these. He thought over what he should say; meanwhile his eyes wandered around; they fell upon the great mirror with its gilt arabesques; something seemed strange to him. Then he rose and walked up to the glass: "I was under the impression there was a flaw near the top of it," he thought. "I can't well be mistaken. Has it been renewed?" He was still standing by the looking-glass, when Oscar returned: "Berengar is not at all well; the fever is increasing," he said; and the tone of his voice hesitated. "Mamma is with him...."