of him up. His body lay lifeless, like a glass husk; and he asked himself if he wasn't dead. He did not know for certain that he was alive. He saw that the room was very quiet; beside him, in the glass atmosphere of his room, sat a man, who also seemed made of brittle glass; and the man sat motionless: he seemed to be sitting with a book in his hand, reading in the glassy twilight that filtered through the close-drawn window-curtains. . . .
The sick man laboriously closed his eyes again; and it seemed to him that he sank away very slowly, into a great, downy abyss, lower and lower, a very depth of down, into which he sank and went on sinking, sank and went on sinking. . . .
"There's less fever now," said the military doctor. "He's asleep."
"Is he out of danger?" asked the pale little wife, who sat with Constance' arms around her.
"Yes. . . . You would be wise to take a rest, mevrouw."
"I can't . . . I can't. . . ."
"Go and get some sleep, Adeline," said Constance. "I'll stay in the room with Gerrit; and the nurse will keep a good watch."
"He looked round for a moment very peacefully, before he fell asleep," said the male nurse by Gerrit's bedside.
"Go and get some sleep, Adeline. . . ."
