On Sunday, the 15th of October, his attacks were more violent and more frequent--lasting for several hours in succession.

He endured them with patience and great strength of mind.
The Countess Delphine Potocka, who was present, was much distressed; her tears were flowing fast when he observed her standing at the foot of his bed, tall, slight, draped in white, resembling the beautiful angels created by the imagination of the most devout among the painters.
Without doubt, he supposed her to be a celestial apparition; and when the crisis left him a moment in repose, he requested her to sing; they deemed him at first seized with delirium, but he eagerly repeated his request.

Who could have ventured--to oppose his wish?
The piano was rolled from his parlor to the door of his chamber, while, with sobs in her voice, and tears streaming down her cheeks, his gifted countrywoman sang.

Certainly, this delightful voice had never before attained an expression so full of profound pathos.

He seemed to suffer less as he listened.