Then she sent for the Italian doctor. But Wolfgang was angry: what did he want with that quack? He was so disagreeable to the old man that Kate felt quite ashamed of him. Then she left him alone. Why should she try to show him kindness if he would not be shown kindness? She despaired about him. It made her very depressed to think that their journey also seemed a failure--yes, it was, she saw that more every day. The charm of novelty that had stirred him up during the first days had disappeared; now it was as it had been before--worse. For now the air no longer seemed to agree with him. When they walked together he frequently stood still and panted, like one who has difficulty in breathing. She often felt quite terrified when that happened. "Let us turn round, I know you don't feel well." But this difficulty in breathing passed away so quickly that she scolded herself for the excessive anxiety she always felt on his account, an anxiety that had embittered so many years of her life. But one night he had another attack, worse than the others he had already had at home. It might have been about midnight when Kate, who was sleeping softly, rocked to sleep by the constant roar of the sea, was startled by a knocking at the door between their two rooms, and by a cry of "Mother, oh mother!" Was not that a child moaning? She sat up drowsily--then she recognised his voice. "Wolfgang, yes, what's the matter?" She threw on her morning-gown in a fright, pushed her feet into her velvet shoes, opened the door--there he stood outside in his shirt and with bare feet, trembling and stammering: "I feel--so bad." He looked at her imploringly with eyes full of terror, and fell down before she had time to catch hold of him. Kate almost pulled the bell down in her terror. The porter and chambermaid came running. "Telegraph 'Come' to my husband--to my husband. Quickly, at once." When the scared proprietor of the hotel also appeared, they laid the sick lad on his untidy bed again; the porter rushed to the telegraph station and for the doctor, the chambermaid sobbed. The landlord himself hurried down into his cellar to fetch some of the oldest brandy and the best champagne. They were all so extremely sorry for the young gentleman; he seemed to be lying in a deep swoon. Kate did not weep like the good-natured person the chambermaid, whose tears ran down her cheeks the whole time. She had too much to think of, she had to do her duty until the last. Until the last--now she knew it. It was not necessary for the doctor to shake his head nor to whisper mysteriously to the proprietor of the hotel--she knew it. Restoratives were brought from the chemist's; the sick lad's head was lowered, his feet raised, they gave him camphor injections--the heart would not be whipped on any more.