"It's where she sleeps at Frau Irma's,--a sort of alcove, off the living room. She's got her old brown divan in it, you remember in Baden, but she needs a room of her own. When you get old you need to have a door to close, and then Frau Irma is not always easy." "Easy? A porcupine," Fanny whispered back and added something about Croatians in general not complimentary to that former Crownland. Then she looked restlessly at her watch. "Why doesn't he come? Maria, I'm afraid," she ended with a break in her voice. "It _is_ going badly with her," nervously admitted Maria, who had once been a great one at sick beds and who, when it was not so personal, loved to be in at a death. Frau Stacher's breathing was indeed very noisy. It whistled through her thin chest, it came in gasps from her blue mouth. "Do you think she's going to die?" cried Fanny suddenly in panic. "We'd better get a priest anyway, only the poor heathen die without one!" Fanny had always been interested in foreign missions and was in the habit of giving propitiatory sums to the church when she got panicky, for the purpose of conversions.... A ring at the door, a firm, long ring caused Maria to jump up. It was Hermann, Hermann of the old days, despite his right arm hanging straight, Hermann completely professional, quiet, strong, but loving too. He gave one look at his Tante Ilde. "Pneumonia," he said, "she's been ill for a couple of days," and he started to do the little there was to be done. "But she never said anything except that she had a bit of a cold, the angel, and going to the cemetery too!" answered Fanny aghast. "To the cemetery in such a state!" he echoed in astonishment, "why she won't get through the night. Fanny--I'm glad she's here." As the brother and sister looked at each other their eyes filled with tears. The way life was.... "I'm afraid she's already begun her agony," he whispered a few minutes later, "dear, good, sweet Tante Ilde." But he wrote a prescription for Maria to take out. "It may last longer than we think. It's sometimes so hard for them to go, even when they've nothing to stay for, but we can try to make it easy for her." Fanny ran out of the room after Maria. "Go to the Kapuziners and bring some one back and quick," she whispered imperatively. Then she returned to the bedside. Hermann was bending over his aunt, raising her up and Fanny ran again and got some of the softest cushions from the blue divan, to put high, high under her head. Suddenly Tante Ilde opened her eyes. "Manny, dear, good Manny!" she cried, quite loud, then, "Fanny, darling, you won't forget little Ferry?" And then she called for Corinne, and called again and again. She loved them all equally, but the flavor of Corinne's being was the flavor of her own, Ildefonse Stacher's being, and that made a strange, an essential difference at the end....