strange region it becomes a deadly pestilence--as in Paris, where a
special hospital has been established for patients with the disease. It
was in this hospital I found your daughter as a nurse."

"_Jesu Maria!_" shrieked the mother, in a tone of agony. "A nurse in
that pest-house?"

"Yes," nodded the marquis. Then he took from his pocket a letter, and
added: "She wrote this to you from there."

The baroness eagerly extended her hand to take the letter.

"Would it not be better to fumigate it first?" said the marquis.

"No, no; I am not afraid! Give it to me, I beg of you!"

She caught the letter from his hand, tore it open, and read:

"DEAR LITTLE MAMA: What sort of a life are you leading out yonder
in that strange land? Do you never get weary or feel bored? Have
you anything to amuse you? _I_ have become satiated with my
life--lying, cheating, deceiving every day in order to live! While
I was a little girl I was proud of the praises heaped upon me for
my cleverness. But a day came when everything disgusted me. It is
an infamous trade, this of ours, little mama, and I have given it
up. I have begun to lead a different life--one with which I am
satisfied; and if you will take the advice of one who wishes you
well, you, too, will quit the old ways. You can embroider
beautifully and play the piano like a master. You could earn a
livelihood giving lessons in either. Do not trouble any further
about me, for I can take care of myself. If only you knew how much
happier I am now, you would rejoice, I know! Let me beg you to
become honest and truthful, and think often of your old friend and
little daughter,

"AMELIE (now SOEUER AGNES)."

Katharina's nerveless hands dropped to her lap. This sharp rebuke from
her only child was deserved.

Then she sprang suddenly toward her visitor, grasped his arm, and cried:

"Tell me--tell me about my daughter, my little Amelie! How does she look
now? Is she much changed? Has she grown? Oh, M. Cambray! in pity tell
me--tell me about her!"

"I have brought you a portrait of her as she looked when I saw her
last."

He drew from his pocket a small case, and, opening it, disclosed a
pallid face with closed eyes. A wreath of myrtle encircled the head,
which rested on the pillow of a coffin.

"She is dead!" screamed the horror-stricken mother, staring with wild
eyes at the sorrowful picture.

"Yes, madame, she is dead," assented the marquis. "This portrait is sent
by your daughter as a remembrance to the mother who exposed her on the
streets, one stormy winter night, in order that she might spy upon
another little child--a persecuted and homeless little child."

The baroness cowered beneath the merciless words as beneath a stinging
lash: but the man knew no pity; he would not spare the heartbroken
woman.

"And now, madame," he continued in a sharp tone, "you can go back to
your home and take possession of your reward. You have worked hard to
earn the blood-money."

Here the baroness sat suddenly upright, tore from her bosom a small gold
note-case, in which was the order for the five millions of francs. She
opened the case, took out the order, and tore it into tiny bits. Then
she flung them from her, crying savagely:

"Curse him who brought me to this! God's curse be upon him who brought
this on me!"

"Madame," calmly interposed the marquis, "you have not yet completed the
task you were set to do."

"No, no; I have not--I have not," was the excited response, "and I never
will. Come--come with me! The maid and what belongs to her are
here--safe, unharmed. Take her--fly with her and hers whithersoever you
choose to go; I shall not hinder you."

"That I cannot do, madame. I am a stranger in a strange land. I know not
who is my friend or who is my foe. _You_ must save the maid. If
atonement is possible for you, that is the way you may win it. You know
best where the maid will be safe from her persecutors. Save her, and
atone for your transgression against her. Ludwig Vavel gave you his love
and, more than that, his respect. Would you retain both, or will you
tear them to tatters, as you have the order for the five million francs?
Will you let me advise you?" he asked, suddenly.

"Advise me, and I will follow it to the letter!"

"Then disguise yourself as a peasant, hide the steel casket in a hamper,
and take it to Ludwig Vavel, wherever he may be."

"And Marie?"

"You cannot with safety take her with you. The maid and the casket must
not remain together. You must conceal Marie somewhere until you return
from the camp."

"Will you not stay here and keep watch over her until I return?"

"I thank you, madame, for your hospitality, but I must not accept it. I
come direct from the influenza hospital. I feel that the disease has
laid hold of me. I have comfortable quarters at the Nameless Castle,
where my old friend Lisette will take care of me. Don't let Marie come
to see me; and if I should not recover from this illness, which I feel
will be a severe one, let me be buried down yonder on the shore of the
lake."

When the Marquis d'Avoncourt left the pavilion he was shaking with a
violent chill, and as he took his way with tottering steps toward the
Nameless Castle, Katharina, broken-hearted and filled with anguish, wept
out her heart in bitter tears.




CHAPTER II


Marie had finished practising her lesson, and hastened to join Katharina
in the park. She found her in the pavilion, and was filled with alarm
when she saw her "little mama" kneeling among the fragments of her
fortune. Katharina's tear-stained eyes, swollen face, and drawn lips
betrayed how terribly she was suffering.

"My dearest little mama!" exclaimed Marie, hastening toward the kneeling
woman, and trying to lift her from the floor, "what is the matter? What
has happened?"

"Don't touch me," moaned the baroness. "Don't come near me. I am a
murderess. I murdered her who called me mother."

She held the ivory locket toward Marie, and added: "See, this is what
she was like when I deserted her--my little daughter Amelie!"

"Your daughter?" repeated Marie, wonderingly. "You have been married?
Are you a widow?"

"I am."

Katharina now held toward the young girl the portrait M. Cambray had
given her. "And this," she explained in a hollow tone, "is what she is
like now--now, when I wanted her to come to me."

"Good heaven!" ejaculated Marie, gazing in terror at the miniature, "she
is dead?"

"Yes--murdered--as you, too, will be if you stay with me! You must
fly--fly at once!"

"Katharina!" interposed the young girl, "why do you speak so?"

"I say that you must leave me. Go--go at once! Go down to the parsonage,
and ask Herr Mercatoris to give you shelter. Tell him to clothe you in
rags; and when you hear the tramp of horses, hide yourself, and don't
venture from your concealment until they are gone. I, too, am going away
from here."

"But why may not I come with you?" asked Marie, in a troubled tone.

"Where I go you cannot accompany me. I am going to steal through the
lines of Ludwig's camp."

"You are going to Ludwig?" interrupted the young girl.

"Yes, to deliver into his hands the casket containing your belongings.
After that I--I don't know what will become of me."

"Katharina! Don't frighten me so! Do you imagine that Ludwig will cease
to love you when he learns you are a widow, and that you had a
daughter?"

"Oh, no; he will not hate me because I had a daughter," returned
Katharina, shaking her head sadly, "but because my wickedness destroyed
her."

"Don't talk so, Katharina," again expostulated Marie.

"Why, don't you see that she is dead? Look at these closed eyes, the
white face! Ask these closed lips to open and tell you that I did not
murder her!"

"Katharina, this is not true! Your enemies have told you this to grieve
you. Look at these two pictures! There is not the least resemblance
between them. This pale one is not your daughter. He who told you so
lied cruelly."

Katharina sighed mournfully.

"He who told me so does not lie. It was your old friend Cambray."

"Cambray?" echoed Marie, with mingled delight and astonishment. "Cambray
is here? My deliverer, my second father! Where is he?"

"He is gone. He accomplished that for which he came,--to crush me to the
earth, and to serve you,--and has gone away again."

"Gone away?" repeated Marie, incredulously. "Gone away? Impossible!
Cambray would not go away without seeing me! Which way did he go? I will
run after him and overtake him."

"No; stay where you are!" commanded Katharina, seizing her arm. "You
must not follow him."

"Why not?"

"Listen, and I will tell you. Cambray brought these pictures and this
letter from Paris. The letter was written by my daughter in the
hospital, where she caught the dreadful disease which caused her death.
She had been nursing the sick, like a heroine, and died like a saint. It
is well with her now, for she is in heaven. If I weep, it is not for
her, but for myself. The deadly disease Amelie died of has seized upon
your friend Cambray; and the noble old man is unselfish even in dying.
He does not want you to come near him, lest you, too, become affected by
the pestilence. He is gone to the Nameless Castle, where Lisette will
take care of him--"

"Lisette?" interrupted Marie, excitedly. "Lisette, who was afraid to go
near her own husband when he lay dying!"

"Well, what would you? Shall I send some one to nurse him?"

"No--no. _I_ am the one to take care of him! He was a father to me. For
my sake he was imprisoned, persecuted, buried alive all these years! And
I am to let him die over yonder--alone, without a friend near him! No; I
am going to him. That which your other daughter had the courage to do,
this one also will do!"

"Marie! Think of Ludwig! Do you wish to drive him to despair?"

"God watches over us. He will do what is well for all of us!"

"Marie"--Katharina made a last effort to detain the young girl--"Marie,
do you wish to go to Cambray to learn from him that I am the curse-laden
creature who was sent after you to capture you and deliver you into the
hands of your enemies?"

Marie turned at these desperate words, held out her hand, and said
gently:

"And if he were to tell me that, Katharina, I should say to him that,
instead of destroying me you liberated me, and instead of hating me you
love me as I love you."

She made as if she would kiss Katharina; but the excited woman turned
away her face, and held toward Marie the letter Cambray had given her.

"Read this, and learn to know me as I am," she said in a choking voice.

While Marie was reading the letter, Katharina covered her burning face
with both hands; but they were gently drawn away and held in the young
girl's warm clasp, while she spoke:

"A reply must be sent to this letter, little mother. I shall say to her,
through the soul now on the eve of departure to the better land where
she dwells: 'Little sister, your mother will wear the pure white
garment, as you desired, in mourning for you. Instead of you, she will
have me, and will love me, as I shall love her, in your stead. Bless us
both, and be happy.' Shall I not send this message to your Amelie with
my good friend Cambray?"

"Go, then; go--go," convulsively sobbed Katharina, and fell upon her
face on the floor as Marie hastened from the pavilion.




CHAPTER III


When her grief had exhausted itself, Katharina stole back to the manor,
where she removed the steel casket from its hiding-place, wrapped it in
her shawl, and, passing noiselessly and unseen down a staircase that was
rarely used, crossed the park to the farmer's cottage.

Here she told the farmer's wife that she was going to play a trick on
her betrothed, that she wanted to borrow a gown and a kerchief. She bade
the farmer saddle the mule which his wife rode when she went to the
village, and to hang the hampers, as usual, from the pommel. In one of
these she placed the steel casket, in the other a pistol, and filled
them both with all sorts of provisions. Thus disguised, she mounted the
quadruped, and set out alone on her way toward the camp.

Almost at the same moment that Ludwig Vavel had learned of the deceit of
the woman he loved, he became convinced that his ambitious designs had
come to naught. The rising of the German patriots against Napoleon had
ended in their defeat, and not a trace was left of the uprising among
the French people themselves.

It was the third day after the battle of Aspern when Master Matyas
entered Count Vavel's tent.

The jack of all trades had proved himself a useful member of the
army--not, indeed, where there was any fighting, for he much preferred
looking on, when a battle was in progress, to taking an active part in
the fray. But as a spy he was invaluable.

"I have seen everything," he announced. "I saw the balloon in which a
French engineer made an ascent to the clouds, to reconnoiter the
Austrian camp. He went up as high as a kite, and they held on to the
rope below, down which he sent his messages--observations of the
Austrians' movements. I saw the bridge, which is two hundred and forty
fathoms long, which can be transported from place to place, and reaches
from one bank of the Danube to the other. And I saw that demi-god flying
on his white horse. He was pale, and trembled."

"And how came you to see all these sights, Master Matyas?" interrupted
Vavel.

"I allowed the Frenchmen to capture me; then I was set to work in the
intrenchments with the other prisoners."

"And did you manage to deliver my letter?"

"Oh, yes. The Philadelphians are easily recognized from the silver arrow
they wear in their ears. When I whispered the password to one of them,
he gave it back to me, whereupon I handed him your letter. I came away
as soon as he brought me the answer. Here it is."

This letter by no means lightened Vavel's gloomy mood. Colonel Oudet,
the secret chief of the Philadelphians in the French army, heartily
thanked Count Vavel for his offer of assistance to overthrow Napoleon;
but he also gave the count to understand that, were Bonaparte defeated,
the republic would be restored to France. In this case, what would
become of Vavel's cherished plans?

It was after midnight. The pole of "Charles's Wain" in the heavens stood
upward. Ludwig approached the watch-fire, and told the lieutenant on
guard that he might go to his tent, that he, Vavel, would take his
place for the remainder of the night. Then he let the reins drop on the
neck of his horse, and while the beast grazed on the luxuriant grass,
his rider, with his carbine resting in the hollow of his arm, continued
the night watch. The night was very still; the air was filled with
odorous exhalations, which rose from the earth after the shower in the
early part of the evening. From time to time a shooting star sped on its
course across the sky.

One after the other, Ludwig Vavel read the two letters he carried in his
breast. He did not need to take them from their hiding-place in order to
read them. He knew the contents by heart--every word. One of them was a
love-letter he had received from his betrothed; the other was the Judas
message of his enemy and Marie's.

At one time he would read the love-letter first; then that of the
arch-plotter. Again, he would change the order of perusal, and test the
different sensations--the bitter after the sweet, the sweet after the
bitter.

Suddenly, through the silence of the night, he heard the distant tinkle
of a mule-bell. It came nearer and nearer. He heard the outpost's "Halt!
Who comes there?" and heard the pleasant-voiced response: "Good evening,
friend. God bless you."

"Ah!" muttered Ludwig, with a scornful smile, "my beautiful bride is
sending another supply of dainties. How much she thinks of me!"

The mule-bell came nearer and nearer.

By the light of the watch-fire Vavel could see the familiar red kerchief
the farmer's wife from the manor was wont to wear over her head. The
mule came directly toward the watch-fire, and stopped when close to
Vavel's horse. The woman riding the beast slipped quickly to the ground,
emptied the provisions from the hampers, then, lifting the object which
had been concealed in the bottom of one of them, came around to Vavel's
side, saying:

"It is I. I have come to seek you."

"Who is it?" he demanded sternly, recognizing the voice; "Katharina or
Themire?"

"Katharina--Katharina; it is Katharina," stammered the trembling woman,
looking pleadingly up into his forbidding face.

"And why have you come here?"

"I came to bring you this," she replied, holding toward him the steel
casket.

"Where is Marie?"

"She is safe--with the Marquis d'Avoncourt."

"What?" exclaimed Vavel, in amazement, flinging his carbine on the
ground. "Cambray--d'Avoncourt--_here_?"

"Yes; he is at the Nameless Castle, and Marie is with him."

"After all, there is a God in heaven!" with deep-toned thankfulness
ejaculated Ludwig. Then he added: "Oh, Katharina, how I have suffered
because of--Themire!"

"Themire is dead!" solemnly returned the baroness. "Let us not speak of
her. Here, take these treasures into your own keeping; they are no
longer safe with me. Open the casket and convince yourself that
everything is there."

"I cannot open it; I have not got the key."

"Have you lost your ring?"

"No. I have trusted the most notorious thief in the country with it. I
have sent him with the ring to Marie. I bade him show it to her, and
tell her that she was to follow him wherever he might lead her. Satan
Laczi has the ring."

Katharina covered her eyes with her hand, and stood with drooping head
before her lover.

"I have deserved this," she murmured brokenly.

Vavel passed his hand over his face, and sighed. "It was all a dream!
It was madness to expect impossibilities," he murmured. "I am familiar
enough with the stars to have known that there are constellations which
never descend to the horizon. The 'Crown' is one of them! Of what use
are these rags now?" he exclaimed, with sudden vehemence, pointing to
the casket, which Katharina still held on her arm. "Whom can they serve?
They have brought only sorrow to him who has guarded them, and to her to
whom they belong. I cannot open the casket; but I need not do that to
destroy the contents. Pray throw it into the fire yonder."

Katharina obeyed without an instant's hesitation. After a while the
metal casket began to glow in the midst of the flames. It became red,
then a pale rose-color, while a thin cord of vapor trailed through the
keyhole.

"The little garments are burning," whispered Vavel, "and the documents,
and the portraits, and the heap of worthless money. From to-day," he
added, in a louder tone, "I begin to learn what it is to be a poor man."

"I have already learned what poverty means," said Katharina. "Look at
these clothes! I have no others, and even these are borrowed."

"I love you in them," involuntarily exclaimed Vavel, extending his hand
toward her.

"What? You offer me your hand? Do you believe that I am Katharina--only
Katharina?"

"That I may wholly and entirely believe that you are Katharina, and not
Themire, answer one question. A creature who calls himself the Marquis
de Fervlans and Leon Barthelmy is lying in ambush somewhere in this
neighborhood, waiting for you to settle an old account with him. If you
are the same to me that you once were, and if I am the same to you that
I was once, tell me where I shall find De Fervlans, for it will be _my_
duty then to settle with him."

Katharina's face suddenly blazed with eager excitement. She flung back
her head with a proud gesture.

"I will lead you to the place. Together we will seek him!" she cried,
with animation in every feature.

"Then give me your hand. You _are_ Katharina--_my_ Katharina!"

He bent toward her, and the two hands met in a close clasp.

*       *       *       *       *

Count Fertoeszeg ordered the drums to beat a reveille; then he selected
from his troop one hundred trusty men, and galloped with them in the
direction of Neusiedl Lake. Katharina on her mule, without the tinkling
bell, trotted soberly by his side.




PART IX

SATAN AND DEMON


CHAPTER I


There was a notorious troop with Napoleon's army, the sixth Italian
regiment, which was called the "Legion of Demons."

The troop was made up of worthless members of society--idlers,
highwaymen, outcasts, and desperate characters, who had lost all sense
of respectability and morality. The majority of them had sought the
asylum of the battle-field to escape imprisonment or worse.

When their commander led his "demons" to an attack, he was wont to urge
them thus:

"_Avanti, avanti, Signori briganti! Cavalieri ladroni, avanti!_"
("Forward, forward, Messieurs Highwaymen! My chivalrous footpads,
forward!")

A division of this legion of demons had made its way with the vice-king
of Italy thus far through the belt-line, and had been intrusted with the
mission mentioned in De Fervlans's letter to General Guillaume. The
marquis commanded this body of the demons, he having, as Colonel
Barthelmy in the Austrian army, become thoroughly familiar with that
part of Hungary.

*       *       *       *       *

Lisette and Satan Laczi's little son were living alone at the Nameless
Castle.

When Marie, who was come in quest of her friend Cambray, rang the bell,
the door was opened by the lad.

"Is there a strange gentleman here?" she asked.

"I don't know. He went to see Lisette, and I did not see him come away,"
was the reply.

"Then let me come in," said the young girl. "I want to speak to Lisette,
too."

"She will beat me if I let you come in," returned the boy, opening the
door after a moment's hesitation.

The fumes of camphor were perceptible even in the vestibule; and when
Marie's little conductor knocked at the door of the kitchen, a heaping
shovelful of hot and smoking coals was thrust toward him, and a scolding
voice demanded irritably:

"What do you want again? Why do you keep annoying me, you little
torment!"

"Excuse me, Lisette," humbly apologized the lad, "but our young mistress
from the manor is here."

At this announcement Lisette hastily shut the door again, and opened a
small loophole in an upper panel, through which she spoke in a sharp
tone:

"Why do you come here? Has the Lord forsaken you over yonder, that you
come back to this pest-house? Get out of it as quickly as you can. Go
down and hide yourself in the Schmidt's cottage--perhaps they will not
betray you. Anyway, you can't stop here with us."

"That is just what I mean to do, Lisette,--stop here with you,"
smilingly responded Marie. "Where is my friend Cambray?"

"How should I know where he is? A pretty question to ask me! He is n't
anywhere. He has gone to bed, and you can't see him."

"I shall hunt till I find him, Lisette."

"Well, you will do as you like, of course; but you will not find M.
Cambray, for he does n't want to see you."

"Very well," returned Marie. Then to the lad by her side, "Come with
me, Laczko; we will hunt for the gentleman."

Lisette was beside herself with terror at the danger which threatened
Marie; but before she could utter another word, the young girl and her
little escort had disappeared down the corridor.

There was a great change everywhere in the castle. The floors were
covered with muddy foot-tracks; huge nails had been driven into the
varnished walls, and great heaps of dust, straw, and hay lay about on
the inlaid floors of the halls and salon. Marie hardly recognized her
former immaculate asylum.

She called, with her clear, soft-toned voice, into every room, "Cambray!
father! art thou here?" but received no reply.

Then she mounted the staircase to her own apartment. The door was open
like all the rest, but a first glance told Marie that the room had not
been used until now. Lisette, beyond a doubt, had lodged her respected
guest in this only habitable chamber.

Marie entered and looked about her. The metal screen was down!

She hastened toward it. There was a light burning in the alcove, and she
could see through the links by placing her eyes close to them. The noble
old knight was lying on the bare floor, with his hands forming a pillow
for his head. His glassy eyes were fixed and staring, and burning with a
startling brightness. His parched lips were half-open, as if he were
speaking.

"Cambray! father!" called Marie; in a tone of distress.

"Who calls? Marie?" gasped the fever-stricken man, making a vain attempt
to rise. He fell back with a deep groan, but flung out his hand as if to
ward off her approach.

"Let me come in, Cambray. It is I, your little Marie. Please let me
come in. There, close to your right hand, is a button in the floor.
Press it, and this screen will rise."

The sick man began to laugh; only his face showed that he was laughing,
no sound came from his parched throat. He was laughing because he had
prevented his favorite from coming to his pestilential resting-place.

Marie deliberated a moment, then decided to resort to stratagem:

"If you will not let me come in to you, papa Cambray," she called,
simulating a petulant tone, "I shall go away, and not come back again.
If you should want anything there will be a little boy here, outside;
you can summon him by pressing that button. Good night, dear papa
Cambray!"

The sick man turned his face toward the screen and listened in dreamy
ecstasy to the sweet voice. He raised his hand, waved it weakly toward
the speaker, then clasped it with the other on his breast, while his
lips moved as if in prayer.

"Go fetch candles, and the tinder-box," whispered Marie to the little
Laczko. "Place them here by the sofa, then light the lamp in the
corridor."

"May I fetch my gun, too?" asked the boy.

"Your gun? What for?"

"I should n't be afraid if I had it with me."

"Then fetch it; but don't come into the room with it, for I am
dreadfully afraid of guns. Leave it just outside the door."

It was quite dark when Laczko returned with the candles and a heavy