great and rapid were the ravages of disease, that the count's body quickly became a mass of corruption. All were amazed at the phenomena, and were heartily glad when the body was disposed of in the place prepared for its reception in the vaults of his own castle. The guests who came to witness the funeral, and attend the count's obsequies, and to condole with the widow on the loss she had sustained, were entertained sumptuously for many days.
The widow sustained her part well. She was inconsolable for the loss of her husband, and mourned his death bitterly. Her grief appeared profound, but she, with difficulty, subdued it to within decent bounds, that she might not offend any of her numerous guests.
However, they left her with the assurances of their profound regard, and then when they were gone, when the last guest had departed, and were no longer visible to the eye of the countess, as she gazed from the battlements, then her behaviour changed totally.
She descended from the battlements, and then with an imperious gesture she gave her orders that all the gates of the castle should be closed, and a watch set. All signs of mourning she ordered to be laid on one side save her own, which she wore, and then she retired to her own apartment, where she remained unseen.
Here the countess remained in profound meditation for nearly two days, during which time the attendants believed she was praying for the welfare of the soul of their deceased master, and they feared she would starve herself to death if she remained any longer.
Just as they had assembled together for the purpose of either recalling her from her vigils or breaking open the door, they were amazed to see the countess open the room-door, and stand in the midst of them.
"What do you here?" she demanded, in a stern voice.
The servants were amazed and terrified at her contracted brow, and forgot to answer the question she put to them.
"What do you do here?"
"We came, my lady, to see—see—if—if you were well."
"And why?"
"Because we hadn't seen your ladyship these two days, and we thought that your grief was so excessive that we feared some harm might befall you."
The countess's brows contracted for a few seconds, and she was about to make a hasty reply, but she conquered the desire to do so, and merely said—
"I am not well, I am faint; but, had I been dying, I should not have thanked you for interfering to prevent me; however, you acted for the best, but do so no more. Now prepare me some food."
The servants, thus dismissed, repaired to their stations, but with such a degree of alacrity, that they sufficiently showed how much they feared their mistress.
The young count, who was only in his sixth year, knew little about the loss he had sustained; but after a day or two's grief, there was an end of his sorrow for the time.
That night there came to the castle-gate a man dressed in a black cloak, attended by a servant. They were both mounted on good horses, and they demanded to be admitted to the presence of the Countess de Hugo de Verole.
The message was carried to the countess, who started, but said—
"Admit the stranger."
Accordingly the stranger was admitted, and shown into the apartment where the countess was sitting.
At a signal the servants retired, leaving the countess and the stranger alone. It was some moments ere they spoke, and then the countess said in a low tone—
"You are come?"
"I am come."
"You cannot now, you see, perform your threat. My husband, the count, caught a putrid disease, and he is no more."
"I cannot indeed do what I intended, inform your husband of your amours; but I can do something as good, and which will give you as much annoyance."
"Indeed."
"Aye, more, it will cause you to be hated. I can spread reports."
"You can."
"And these may ruin you."
"They may."
"What do you intend to do? Do you intend that I shall be an enemy or a friend? I can be either, according to my will."
"What, do you desire to be either?" inquired the countess, with a careless tone.
"If you refuse my terms, you can make me an implacable enemy, and if you grant them, you can make me a useful friend and auxiliary," said the stranger.
"What would you do if you were my enemy?" inquired the countess.
"It is hardly my place," said the stranger, "to furnish you with a knowledge of my intentions, but I will say this much, that the bankrupt Count of Morven is your lover."
"Well?"
"And in the second place, that you were the cause of the death of your husband."
"How dare you, sir—"
"I dare say so much, and I dare say, also, that the Count of Morven bought the drug of me, and that he gave it to you, and that you gave it to the count your husband."
"And what could you do if you were my friend?" inquired the countess, in the same tone, and without emotion.
"I should abstain from doing all this; should be able to put any one else out of your way for you, when you get rid of this Count of Morven, as you assuredly will; for I know him too well not to be sure of that."
"Get rid of him!"
"Exactly, in the same manner you got rid of the old count."
"Then I accept your terms."
"It is agreed, then?"
"Yes, quite."
"Well, then, you must order me some rooms in a tower, where I can pursue my studies in quiet."
"You will be seen—and noticed—all will be discovered."
"No, indeed, I will take care of that, I can so far disguise myself that he will not recognise me, and you can give out I am a philosopher or necromancer, or what you will; no one will come to me—they will be terrified."
"Very well."
"And the gold?"
"Shall be forthcoming as soon as I can get it. The count has placed all his gold in safe keeping, and all I can seize are the rents as they become due."
"Very well; but let me have them. In the meantime you must provide for me, as I have come here with the full intention of staying here, or in some neighbouring town."
"Indeed!"
"Yes; and my servant must be discharged, as I want none here."
The countess called
