you would not have understood it any more than
I did. The colonel was waltzing—you remember
how wonderfully he used to dance—he was
waltzing with that lovely Baroness Brenn, and
many of us, I amongst the rest, were looking on
at them and the other dancers. After a certain
time they paused near to where I was standing,
to get breath and rest a little. An officer in an
Austrian uniform, who had also been one of the
spectators, came quietly round to the colonel's
side, and said a few words which I could not hear.
I managed, however, to catch the colonel's reply,
'I suppose there is time for another turn?' His
answer was, I suppose, in the negative, for shortly
after I heard the colonel say to his partner, 'A
friend has arrived at my house on urgent business.
It is necessary that I should see him immediately,
but I shall be back in a short time, and we will
finish this valse after supper.' He handed the
baroness to a seat, and left the room in company
with the Austrian officer."
"And that was the arrest of a murderer?"

"It was."

"And this is all you know?" I asked.

"All I know now" answered Madame Stortzer.
"But come and see me again to-morrow at this
time, and I shall doubtless have more to tell you.
But remember," she continued, gravely,
"remember your promise."

I pledged myself once more, and left her.

The next day I was punctual to the
appointment.

"Well," I said, as I sat down in my old place
by the stove, " have you any more to tell me?"

"Yes," answered Madame Stortzer, "I have
indeed. The drama is near its termination, and
the curtain will soon rise upon the last act."

"He is to die, then?" I asked.

"The Council was assembled," Madame
Stortzer replied, " by the emperor directly after his
first interview with the old priest. The colonel has
been condemned, and is to die in a few days.
But it was more of the countess that I wished
to speak to you just now. She has arrived in
Vienna."

"Arrived in Vienna?"

"I know not how," continued Madame Stortzer,
"the tidings reached her of her husband's arrest,
of his being charged both with the murder of the
old count, and of the invalidity of the marriage
between the colonel and herself. These tidings
have reached her at any rate, and now that
wondrous love which only mothers know, has
strengthened her even in this moment of her
agony, and she has come up here to petition that
a new marriage may take place between her and
the colonel before he dies, in order that the two
children which have been born to them may not
be deprived of the advantages of legitimacy."

"And do you mean to say," I asked, "that
such a marriage is to take place?"

"It is to take place," answered Madame
Stortzer, "within the very walls of the prison,
the night before the execution takes place. The
wife and the husband are to meet before the
altar. They are not to see each other either
before or after the ceremony, nor is one word—
except the words of the marriage service—to be
exchanged between them."

"Her strength will break down under such an
ordeal," I said.

Madame Stortzer did not answer at first. " I
have seen her," she said presently, " and rendered
her what services I could. She is now almost in
a state of unconsciousness of what happens
around her. Her grief seems to have stunned
her. In such a condition she may get through
this last terrible trial, but it is a chance. No
one could pronounce on it with certainty. I
think," Madame Stortzer went on, "that she
hardly knew me, though we were school-girls
together, and intimate friends before her
marriage with Count Vordenberg."

I was very young when the events I am
describing took place. I was at that age when, if
in Paris, I must always go to the Morgue. I
had not had suffering enough to make scenes of
misery and horror intolerable to me. A strange
desire took possession of me now to be a witness
of that last scene which was to end this strange
eventful history. Now I should shrink from
such a thing, do anything, go anywhere to
avoid it.

I mentioned what was in my head to Madame
Stortzer.

"Do you really wish it?" she said. "Why
unnecessarily be present at a scene of such
unutterable misery and terror?"

My friend argued long and earnestly against
my desire, but it was not to be shaken. A strange
infatuation it was. I seemed unable to resist it.
I dreaded the thing unspeakably, yet felt that it
must be done.

At last Madame Stortzer's arguments gave way
before my obstinacy. It was not difficult for her
to obtain for me what I wanted. Her husband
was an excellent man, and may have been, very
likely, a wise senator as well; but one quality he
certainly did not possess, and that was the power
of resisting his wife's will. It was soon arranged
that I was to be smuggled into the fortress, and
was to be a concealed spectator of all that took
place on the night of the wedding. From the
moment that this was arranged, I think I would
have given anything to have receded from what I
had committed myself to so eagerly.

I shall never forget that night, or the scene of
which I was the witness. The little chapel of
the prison was so situated that it was approached
by various passages or corridors communicating
with different parts of the main building. Each
of these corridors had a separate entrance in the
chapel, and it was so arranged, no doubt in order
that different classes of prisoners might enter the
consecrated building without being necessarily
brought in contact with each other. I was
placed in a dark corner, close to the altar, from
which post I could see everything that passed
without being myself observable. The chapel
was dimly lighted by the candles on the altar, and