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 glance about the room and fixing his attention on the pamphlets, the leaves of which were still uncut.

"The beating of his heart is scarcely perceptible, his pulse is very weak, his appetite entirely gone," replied Basilio in a low voice with a sad smile. "He sweats profusely in the early morning."

Noticing that Simoun kept his face turned toward the pamphlets and fearing that he might reopen the subject of their conversation in the wood, he went on: "His system is saturated with poison. He may die any day, as though struck by lightning. The least irritation, any excitement may kill him."

"Like the Philippines!" observed Simoun lugubriously.

Basilio was unable to refrain from a gesture of impatience, but he was determined not to recur to the old subject, so he proceeded as if he had heard nothing: "What weakens him the most is the nightmares, his terrors—"

"Like the government!" again interrupted Simoun.

"Several nights ago he awoke in the dark and thought that he had gone blind. He raised a disturbance, lamenting and scolding me, saying that I had put his eyes out. When I entered his room with a light he mistook me for Padre Irene and called me his saviour."

"Like the government, exactly!"

"Last night," continued Basilio, paying no attention, "he got up begging for his favorite game-cock, the one that died three years ago, and I had to give him a chicken. Then he heaped blessings upon me and promised me many thousands—"

At that instant a clock struck half-past ten. Simoun shuddered and stopped the youth with a gesture.

"Basilio," he said in a low, tense voice, "listen to me carefully, for the moments are precious. I see that you haven't opened the pamphlets that I sent you. You're not interested in your country."

The youth started to protest.

"It's useless," went on Simoun dryly. "Within an