He seemed to be waiting now to get better.
"He has made little or no progress," said the doctor, who could only
give a passing glance at his patients, for he was working day and
night. He had not time to beat about the bush, as his kind heart
would have liked, for he had known Desiree all her life.
It was Shrove Tuesday, and the streets were full of revellers. The
Neapolitans and other Southerners had made great preparations for
the carnival, and the Governor had not denied them their annual
licence. They had built a high car in one of the entrance yards to
the Marienkirche; and finding that the ancient arch would not allow
the erection to pass out into the street, they had pulled down the
pious handiwork of a bygone generation.
The shouts of these merrymakers could be dimly heard through the
double windows, but Sebastian made no inquiry as to the meaning of
the cry. A sort of lassitude--the result of confinement within
doors, of insufficient food, of waning hope--had come over Desiree.
She listened heedlessly to the sounds in the streets through which
the dead were passing to the Oliva Gate, while the living danced by
in their hideous travesty of rejoicing.
It was dusk when Barlasch came in.
"The streets," he said, "are full of fools, dressed as such."
Receiving no answer, he crossed the room to where Desiree sat,
treading noiselessly, and stood in front of her, trying to see her
averted face.
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