I thought so. Wait till I return; we have a little account to settle together.”
I lit my torch and held it out above the precipice.
“It is too late!” I cried. “Wretch! Behold your grave!”
And the immense ranges of the abyss, with their black slippery rocks, bristling with wild fig-trees, were illuminated to the bottom of the valley.
The view was Titanic: the white light of the flaming pitch, descending from stage to stage of the rocks, casting their broad shadows into space, seemed to plough into unfathomable depths of darkness.
I was strongly affected myself, and fell back a step, as if seized with giddiness. But he—separated from the yawning gulf but by the width of a brick—with what terror must he not have been overwhelmed!
His knees bent under him—his hands clutched at the wall. I held forth the blazing torch again: an enormous bat, disturbed by the light, commenced his dreary round about the gigantic walls, like a black rat with angular wings, floating in the flame; and far, far down, the waves of the Rummel sparkled in immensity.
“Mercy!” cried the murderer in a broken voice—“mercy!”
I had not courage to prolong his torture, and threw my torch’ into the abyss. It fell slowly, its ragged flame waving in the darkness; lighting, turn by turn, the ledges of the mighty rocks as it passed them, and sprinkling the bushes with its dazzling sparks.
While it was yet but a spot in the midst of night, and was still descending, a shadow overtook and passed it like a thunderbolt!
Justice, I knew, had been done.
* * * *
On my way up the stairs from the amphitheater, something bent under my foot: I stooped and picked it up; it was my own sword! With his habitual perfidy, Castagnac had resolved to kill me with my own weapon, so that my death might have appeared to be the result of suicide.
Moreover, as I had foreseen, the door of my room had been forced open, my bed turned over, my papers scattered about; his search, in fact, had been exhaustive.
This circumstance completely dissipated the involuntary feeling of pity with which the wretch’s terrific end had inspired me.
1 The Voltigeurs were French military skirmish units created in 1804 by Emperor Napoleon I.
2 Spahis were light cavalry regiments of the French army recruited primarily from the indigenous populations of Algeria, Tunisia and Morocco.
THE MAN-WOLF
CHAPTER I
About Christmas time in the year 18—, as I was lying fast asleep at the Cygne at Fribourg, my old friend Gideon Sperver broke abruptly into my room, crying—
“Fritz, I have good news for you; I am going to take you to Nideck, two leagues from this place. You know Nideck, the finest baronial castle in the country, a grand monument of the glory of our forefathers?”
Now I had not seen Sperver, who was my foster-father, for sixteen years; he had grown a full beard in that time, a huge fox-skin cap covered his head, and he was holding his lantern close under my nose. It was, therefore, only natural that I should answer—
“In the first place let us do things in order. Tell me who you are.”
“Who I am? What! don’t you remember Gideon Sperver, the Schwartzwald huntsman? You would not be so ungrateful, would you? Was it not I who taught you to set a trap, to lay wait for the foxes along the skirts of the woods, to start the dogs after the wild birds? Do you remember me now? Look at my left ear, with a frost-bite.”
“Now I know you; that left ear of yours has done it; Shake hands.”
Sperver, passing the back of his hand across his eyes, went on—
“You know Nideck?”
“Of course I do—by reputation; what have you to do there?”
“I am the count’s chief huntsman.”
“And who has sent you?”
“The young Countess Odile.”
“Very good. How soon are we to start?”
“This moment. The matter is urgent; the old count is very ill, and his daughter has begged me not to lose a moment. The horses are quite ready.”
“But, Gideon, my dear fellow, just look out at the weather; it has been snowing three days without cessation.”
“Oh, nonsense; we are not going out boar-hunting; put on your thick coat, buckle on your spurs, and let us prepare to start. I will order something to eat first.” And he went out, first adding, “Be sure to put on your cape.”
I could never refuse old Gideon anything; from my childhood he could do anything with me with a nod or a sign; so I equipped myself and came into the coffee-room.
“I knew,” he said, “that you would not let me go back without you. Eat every bit of this slice of ham, and let us drink a stirrup cup, for the horses are getting impatient. I have had your portmanteau put in.”
“My portmanteau! what is that for?”
“Yes, it will be all right; you will have to stay a few days at Nideck, that is indispensable, and I will tell you why presently.”
So we went down into the courtyard.
At that moment two horsemen arrived, evidently tired out with riding, their horses in a perfect lather of foam. Sperver, who had always been a great admirer of a fine horse, expressed his surprise and admiration at these splendid animals.
“What beauties! They are of the Wallachian breed, I can see, as finely formed as deer, and as swift. Nicholas, throw a cloth over them quickly, or they will take cold.”
The travellers, muffled in Siberian furs, passed close by us just as we were going to mount. I could only discern the long brown moustache of one, and his singularly bright and sparkling eyes.
They entered the hotel.
The groom was holding our horses by the bridle. He wished us bon voyage, removed his hand, and we were off.
Sperver rode a pure Mecklemburg. I was mounted on a stout cob bred in the Ardennes, full of fire; we flew over the snowy ground. In ten minutes we had left Fribourg behind us.
The sky was beginning to clear up. As far as the eye could reach we could distinguish neither road, path, nor track. Our only company were the ravens of the Black Forest spreading their hollow wings wide over the banks of snow, trying one place after another unsuccessfully for food, and croaking, “Misery! misery!”
Gideon, with his weather-beaten countenance, his fur cloak and cap, galloped on ahead, whistling airs from the Freyschütz; sometimes as he turned I could see the sparkling drops of moisture hanging from his long moustache.
“Well,
