"You must go," she said now, laying her hand on my arm.
I turned to look at her. Her eyes were full of a vague alarm. I was like a man suddenly roused half-way through a vivid entrancing dream, unable still to believe that the real is true and the phantasm not the only substance.
"Come, come," repeated Wetter urgently and irritably. "You can't let him die without going to him."
"Go, Augustin," she whispered.
"Yes, I'll go. I'm going; I'm going at once," I stammered. "I'm ready, Wetter. Take me with you. Is he really dying?"
"So they say."
"Hammerfeldt dying! Yes, I'll come with you."
I turned to the Countess; Wetter was already half-way to the door. He looked back over his shoulder, and his face was impatient. My eyes met hers, I read the fear that was in hers. I was strangely fearful myself, appalled at such a breaking of our dream.
"Good-bye," I said. "I'll come again soon; to-morrow, some time to-morrow."
"Yes, yes," said she, but hardly as though she believed me.
"Good-bye." I took her hand and kissed it; Wetter looked on, saying nothing. The thought of concealment did not occur to me. I kissed her hand two or three times.
"Shall you find him alive?" she murmured, in speculation more than in question.
"I don't know. Good-bye."
She herself led me to where Wetter was standing.
