Seeing Pinocchio so grief-stricken, she
asked him anxiously:
"What is the matter, dear little neighbor?"
"I am sick, my little Dormouse, very, very sick--and from an illness
which frightens me! Do you understand how to feel the pulse?"
"A little."
"Feel mine then and tell me if I have a fever."
The Dormouse took Pinocchio's wrist between her paws and, after a few
minutes, looked up at him sorrowfully and said: "My friend, I am sorry,
but I must give you some very sad news."
"What is it?"
"You have a very bad fever."
"But what fever is it?"
"The donkey fever."
"I don't know anything about that fever," answered the Marionette,
beginning to understand even too well what was happening to him.
"Then I will tell you all about it," said the Dormouse. "Know then that,
within two or three hours, you will no longer be a Marionette, nor a
boy."
"What shall I be?"
"Within two or three hours you will become a real donkey, just like the
ones that pull the fruit carts to market."
"Oh, what have I done? What have I done?" cried Pinocchio, grasping his
two long ears in his hands and pulling and tugging at them angrily, just
as if they belonged to another.
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