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 Fertöszeg 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.