The Erckmann-Chatrian MEGAPACK ®. Emile Erckmann

was astonished; for all my theories upon the count’s past life were falling to the earth.

      “Still, Monsieur Knapwurst, the lord of Nideck has had great sorrows, had he not?”

      “Such as what?”

      “The loss of his wife.”

      “Yes, you are right there; his wife was an angel; he married her for love. She was a Zaân, one of the oldest and best nobility of Alsace, but a family ruined by the Revolution. The Countess Odile was the delight of her husband. She died of a decline which carried her off after five years’ illness. Every plan was tried to save her life. They travelled in Italy together but she returned worse than she went, and died a few weeks after their return. The count was almost broken-hearted, and for two years he shut himself up and would see no one. He neglected his hounds and his horses. Time at last calmed his grief, but there is always a remainder of grief,” said the hunchback, pointing with his finger to his heart; “you understand very well, there is still a bleeding wound. Old wounds you know, make themselves felt in change of weather—and old sorrows too—in spring when the flowers bloom again, and in autumn when the dead leaves cover the soil. But the count would not marry again; all his love is given to his daughter.”

      “So the marriage was a happy one throughout?”

      “Happy! why it was a blessing for everybody.”

      I said no more. It was plain that the count had not committed, and could not have committed, a crime. I was obliged to yield to evidence. But, then, what was the meaning of that scene at night, that strange connection with the Black Pest, that fearful acting, that remorse in a dream, which impelled the guilty to betray their past atrocities?

      I lost myself in vain conjectures.

      Knapwurst relighted his pipe, and handed me one, which I accepted.

      By that time the icy numbness which had laid hold of me had nearly passed away, and I was enjoying that pleasant sense of relief which follows great fatigue when by the chimney-corner in a comfortable easy-chair, veiled in wreaths of tobacco-smoke, you yield to the luxury of repose, and listen idly to the duet between the chirping of a cricket on the hearth and the hissing of the burning log.

      So we sat for a quarter of an hour.

      At last I ventured to remark—

      “But sometimes the count gets angry with his daughter?”

      Knapwurst started, and fixing a sinister, almost a fierce and hostile eye upon me, answered—

      “I know, I know!”

      I watched him narrowly, thinking I might learn something now in support of my theory, but he simply added ironically—

      “The towers of Nideck are high, and slander flies too low to reach their elevation!”

      “No doubt; but still it is a fact, is it not?”

      “Oh yes, so it is; but after all it is only a craze, an effect of his complaint. As soon as the crisis is past all his love for mademoiselle comes back. I assure you, sir, that a lover of twenty could not be more devoted, more affectionate, than he is. That young girl is his pride and his joy. A dozen times have I seen him riding away to get a dress, or flowers, or what not, for her. He went off alone, and brought back the articles in triumph, blowing his horn. He would have entrusted so delicate a commission to no one, not even to Sperver, whom he is so fond of. Mademoiselle never dares express a wish in his hearing lest he should start off and fulfil it at once. The lord of Nideck is the worthiest master, the tenderest father, and the kindest and most upright of men. Those poachers who are for ever infesting our woods, the old Count Ludwig would have strung them up without mercy; our count winks at them; he even turns them into gamekeepers. Look at Sperver! why, if Count Ludwig was alive, Sperver’s bones would long ago have been rattling in chains; instead of which he is head huntsman at the castle.”

      All my theories were now in a state of disorganisation. I laid my head between my hands and thought a long while.

      Knapwurst, supposing that I was asleep, had turned to his folio again.

      The grey dawn was now peeping in, and the lamp turning pale. Indistinct voices were audible in the castle.

      Suddenly there was a noise of hurried steps outside. I saw some one pass before the window, the door opened abruptly, and Gideon appeared at the threshold.

      CHAPTER XI

      Sperver’s pale face and glowing eyes announced that events were on their way. Yet he was calm, and did not seem surprised at my presence in Knapwurst’s room.

      “Fritz,” he said briefly, “I am come to fetch you.” I rose without answering and followed him. Scarcely were we out of the hut when he took me by the arm and drew me on to the castle.

      “Mademoiselle Odile wants to see you,” he whispered.

      “What! is she ill?”

      “No, she is much better, but something or other that is strange is going on. This morning about one o’clock, thinking that the count was nearly breathing his last, I went to wake the countess; with my hand on the bell my heart failed me. ‘Why should I break her heart?’ I said to myself, ‘She will learn her misfortune only too soon; and then to wake her up in the middle of the night, weak and frail as she is, after such shocks, might kill her at a stroke.’ I took a few minutes to consider, and then I resolved I would take it all on myself. I returned to the count’s room. I looked in—not a soul was there! Impossible! the man was in the last agonies of death. I ran into the corridor like a madman. No one was there! Into the long gallery—no one! Then I lost my presence of mind, and rushing again into the young countess’s room, I rang again. This time she appeared, crying out—‘Is my father dead?’ ‘No.’ ‘Has he disappeared?’ ‘Yes, madam. I had gone out for a minute—when I came in again—’ ‘And Doctor Fritz, where is he?’ ‘In Hugh Lupus’s tower.’ ‘In that tower?’ She started. She threw a dressing-gown around her, took her lamp, and went out. I stayed behind. A quarter of an hour after she came back, her feet covered with snow, and so pale and so cold! She set her lamp upon the chimney-piece, and looking at me fixedly, said—‘Was it you who put the doctor into that tower?’ ‘Yes, madam.’ ‘Unhappy man! you will never know the extent of the harm you have done.’ I was about to answer, but she interrupted me—‘No more; go and fasten every door and lie down. I will sit up. To-morrow morning you will find Doctor Fritz at Knapwurst’s, and bring him to me. Make no noise, and mind, you have seen nothing and know nothing!’”

      “Is that all, Sperver?” I asked.

      He nodded gravely.

      “And about the count?”

      “He is in again. He is better.”

      We had got to the antechamber. Gideon knocked at the door gently, then he opened it, announcing—“Doctor Fritz.”

      I took a pace forward, and stood in the presence of Odile. Sperver had retired, closing the door.

      A strange impression crossed my mind at the sight of the young countess standing pale and still, leaning upon the back of an arm-chair, her eyes of feverish brightness, and robed in a long dress of rich black velvet. But she stood calm and firm.

      “Doctor,” she said, motioning me to a chair, “pray sit down; I have a very serious matter to speak to you about.”

      I obeyed in silence.

      In her turn she sat down and seemed to be collecting her thoughts.

      “Providence or an evil destiny, I know not which, has made you witness of a mystery in which lies involved the honour of my family.”

      So she knew it all!

      I sat confounded and astonished.

      “Madam, believe me, it was but by chance—”

      “It is useless,” she interrupted; “I know it all, and it is frightful!”

      Then,