into another detached phrase. 'There is nothing the matter with me,'
he said.

Then he continued vaguely wondering, recalling the sensation of wretched
sickness which sometimes follows drunkenness, thinking of the times when
he had fallen ill.

'But I am not like that,' he said, 'because I don't feel tremulous. I am
sure my hand is steady.'

Helena stood still to consider the road. He held out his hand before
him. It was motionless as a dead flower on this silent night.

'Yes, I think this is the right way,' said Helena, and they set off
again, as if gaily.

'It certainly feels rather deathly,' said Siegmund to himself. He
remembered distinctly, when he was a child and had diphtheria, he had
stretched himself in the horrible sickness, which he felt was--and here
he chose the French word--'_l'agonie_'. But his mother had seen and had
cried aloud, which suddenly caused him to struggle with all his soul to
spare her her suffering.

'Certainly it is like that,' he said. 'Certainly it is rather deathly. I
wonder how it is.'

Then he reviewed the last hour.

'I believe we are lost!' Helena interrupted him.