The curtains had been let down, in the semi-obscure alcove lay a pale woman, seemingly a corpse which, nevertheless, was suffering the torments of life. Domestics were gathered round the bed, at a table sat the doctor writing something. Vértessy had already unfastened his sword outside so as to avoid making a clatter. He now rushed to Cornelia's side, seized her trembling, sweat-covered hand, and, pressing it to his lips, inquired: "How do you feel?" "On the threshold of death," answered the lady, and with her other arm she drew down her husband's head towards her that she might kiss it. Her whole face was as white as marble, and the cold sweat stood out upon her forehead like pearly beads. "The coming hour has secrets of its own, Vértessy," lisped the lady, pressing Vértessy's hand in her own, "whether it be good or evil, joy or death." Vértessy's eyes interrogated the doctor as if he hoped for some comforting reassurance from him. The doctor beckoned him aside. "She is suffering tortures," he whispered, "but she would hide it from you." "She may hide it in her voice, but I can tell it is so from her breathing. Is the danger great?" The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Pretty much as usual. She is very nervous, and besides that, there is something on her mind." "What can it be?" "It would be as well, General, if you ascertained. At such a time peace of mind is a matter of life or death, and fear or any feeling of anxiety might have a bad effect upon--a new life." At the words "a new life" that involuntary gleam of joy flashed across Vértessy's lips once more. He went back to his wife and knelt down on her tapestried cushion. "Cornelia, how are you?" "In God's hands," whispered the lady, raising her glorious eyes. "God chastises and is merciful as it seemeth Him good." Her convulsive pressure showed Vértessy what she must be suffering. "There is mercy with God," faintly murmured the lady once more. Vértessy felt his heart tremble at these words. An hour before he also had said: "With God there is mercy," and that to a man who had promised himself a long life. The lady turned towards him with a languid look, pressed both her husband's hands to her breast, and looking long and painfully into his eyes, she asked: "Will God be merciful to me?" "To thee, my angel?--yes!--oh yes!" stammered the General. "And have you also been merciful to him who begged you for mercy?" Vértessy could not meet that look, he could find no words to answer that question. "Vértessy! One death demands another, judgment is requited with judgment. I am standing on the edge of the grave, do not let me die." "What am I doing, what can I do?" said her husband with a faltering voice.