'Eugen,' he whispered, 'listen carefully to me. I have news. With
the assistance of friends I have arranged to borrow that million for
you. It is quite settled, and you may rely on it. But you must get
better. Do you hear me?'
Eugen almost sat up in bed. 'Tell me I am not delirious,' he
exclaimed.
'Of course you aren't,' Aribert replied. 'But you mustn't sit up. You
must take care of yourself.'
'Who will lend the money?' Eugen asked in a feeble, happy
whisper.
'Never mind. You shall hear later. Devote yourself now to getting
better.'
The change in the patient's face was extraordinary. His mind
seemed to have put on an entirely different aspect. The doctor was
startled to hear him murmur a request for food. As for Aribert, he
sat down, overcome by the turmoil of his own thoughts. Till that
moment he felt that he had never appreciated the value and the
marvellous power of mere money, of the lucre which philosophers
pretend to despise and men sell their souls for. His heart almost
burst in its admiration for that extraordinary Nella, who by mere
personal force had raised two men out of the deepest slough of
despair to the blissful heights of hope and happiness. 'These
Anglo-Saxons,' he said to himself, 'what a race!'
By the afternoon Eugen was noticeably and distinctly better. The
physicians, puzzled for the third time by the progress of the case,
announced now that all danger was past.
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