LIFE OF ELIE METCHNIKOFF 269 



played him some Beethoven, some Mozart ; the last 

 time it was a Chopin prelude. 



On the 9th his temperature went down in an 

 alarming way to 35*2° C. (95 F.). For the first time 

 he would not write down his ordinary observations. 

 " What is the good ? " said he, " it has no- longer any 

 interest." Yet the next day he did so, for the last 

 time. On the 11th and 12th he put down his tem- 

 perature, and glanced superficially at the notes I 

 had written. On the 12th, about five o'clock in the 

 morning, he had a bad fit of breathlessness followed 

 by coughing, and brought up large clots of very red 

 blood. He smiled faintly. " You understand what 

 that means," he said, adding some tender words. 



I wheeled him to his bed, which he never left again. 



On the 13th, in the early morning, he felt very ill. 

 Calmly and gently he warned me to be ready. " It 

 will surely be to-day or to-morrow." 



My heart breaking, I asked him why he said that ; 

 was he feeling very weak ? or suffering very much ? 



" No," he said, "it is difficult to say what I feel ; 

 I have never felt anything like it ; it is, so to speak, a 

 deai,th.-sensation. . . . But I feel very calm, with no 

 fear. You will hold my hand, will you not ? " 



How can I describe those last three days ? He 

 preserved all his lucidity and serenity, often smiling 

 at me and drawing me towards him. He inhaled 

 oxygen very often, as breathlessness became almost 

 continuous. 



On the 14th there was to be a matinee perform- 

 ance of Manon Lescaut, and remembering that his 

 god-children had long wished to see that opera, he 

 had had a box taken for them. He was now quite 

 uneasy about it. " What ill-luck," he said, "if it 



