The doctor on duty had written him down as much reduced by malarious fever and wandering in his mind, but added that he might live and get well.

It was wonderful, the doctor reflected for the thousandth time in his short experience, that humanity should bear so much as it daily did.
The visiting physician, who was a man of learning and reputation, came three hours later and examined Marcello with interest.

The boy had not suffered much by sleeping on the tail of the cart in the warm summer's night, and was now greatly refreshed by the cleanliness and comparative luxury of his new surroundings.

He had no fever now and had slept quietly for two hours, but when he tried to remember what had happened to him, where he had been, and how he had come to the place where he was, it all grew vague and intricate by turns, and his memories faded away like the dreams we try to recall when we can only just recollect that we have had a dream of some sort.

He knew that he was called Marcello, but the rest was gone; he knew that a beautiful creature had taken care of him, and that her name was Regina.