He found the servants and another stranger in the room. Pushing them aside, he stepped up to where Ferdinand was lying on the couch. The wounded man was without coat or waistcoat, and his face was so dreadfully changed that at first the father scarcely recognized his own son. The doctor was sitting at the head of the couch. Adler stared, and then fell upon a chair, leant forward with his hands on his knees, and asked in a stifled voice: "What have you been doing, you scamp?" Ferdinand gave him a look of indescribable sadness; then he took his father's hand and kissed it. He had not done this for a long time. Adler shuddered and was silent. Ferdinand began to speak in a low voice and with pauses: "I had to ... father ... I had to. Everyone spoke against us, the nobility, the newspapers, even the waiters. They were saying that I was squandering the money while you sweated the workpeople. Before long they would have spat in our faces." "Do not exert yourself," whispered the doctor. The old man listened with the greatest astonishment and sorrow. His thick lips were parted. "Save me ... father...!" cried Ferdinand with raised voice. "I have promised ten thousand roubles to the doctor." A cloud of displeasure flashed across Adler's face. "Why so much?" he asked mechanically. "Because I am dying ... I feel I am dying." The old man started up from his chair. "You are mad!" he exclaimed. "You have done a foolish thing, but you are not going to die!" "I am dying," the wounded man groaned. Adler, in utter bewilderment, pulled his fingers till the joints cracked. "He is mad! Good Lord! he is out of his mind! Tell him he is silly, doctor--he speaks of dying.... As if we should allow him to die! You have been promised ten thousand roubles: that is not enough," feverishly continued the old man. "I will give a hundred thousand for my son, if there is the slightest danger. But mind you, I am not going to pay if he is merely silly. What is his condition?" "It is not exactly dangerous," replied the doctor; "yet we must be careful." "Of course! Do you hear him, Ferdinand? Now, don't bother yourself and me.... Johann! Send a wire to Warsaw for all the best doctors. Send to Vienna and Berlin--to Paris, if necessary. Let the doctor give you the addresses of the most famous men. I will pay ... I have enough money...." "Oh, I feel so terribly ill," Ferdinand groaned, tossing about on the couch. His father hurried to his side. "Compose yourself," said the doctor. "Father!" cried the dying man; "my father, I cannot see you any more!" Blood appeared on his lips. His eyes were dilated with despair. "Air!" he cried.