There was a rather long silence, during which the guests remained plunged in profound meditations.

At length don Adolfo broke the charm that seemed to enchain them, by suddenly speaking again.

"The princess had a brother, at that time a young man of twenty-two at the most, adroit in all manly exercises, brave as his sword, a great favourite with the ladies, whose fondness he returned, and who concealed beneath a frivolous exterior an earnest character, a capacious intellect, and an indomitable will. This brother, whom we will call Oclau, if you like, felt a sincere attachment for his sister; he loved her for all that she had suffered, and was the first to urge her to leave the palace of her defunct husband, and return to her family, chaining her down, and rejecting the offer of service made by the prince, her brother-in-law. Oclau felt a strong repulsion for the prince, although there was nothing in the eyes of society to justify the conduct he adopted towards him. Still, he did not break off all relations with him; he visited him now and then, though rarely, it is true. These interviews, always cold and constrained on the part of the young man, were cordial and eager on that of the prince, who essayed by his gracious manner, and continually renewed offers of services, to win over again this man, whose aversion he had divined. The princess, who had retired to her family, brought up her daughter far from the world, with tenderness and absolute devotion. On her husband's death she put on mourning, which she has not left off since: but this mourning she wore even more in her heart than in her garments, for the catastrophe which had deprived her of her husband was ever present to her mind, and with the tenacity of loving hearts, for whom time does not progress, her grief was as lively as on the first day; if at times, in the retreat to which she voluntarily confined herself, her brother-in-law's name was accidentally pronounced, a convulsive tremor suddenly agitated her whole person, her pale face became livid, and her large eyes, burned by fever, and inundated with tears, were at such times fixed on her brother Oclau with a strange expression of reproach and despair, seeming to say to him that the vengeance he had promised her was long delayed. The prince, now a made man, had reflected that he was the last of his race, and that it was urgent, if he did not wish the family titles and estates to pass to distant collaterals, to have an heir to his name; consequently, he commenced negotiations with several princely families of the country, and at the period we have now reached, that is to say, about eight years after his brother's death, there was a strong report about the prince's marriage with the daughter of one of the noblest houses of the Germanic Confederation. Nothing could be more suitable than this alliance, destined to augment the already proverbial importance and wealth of the house of Oppenheim-Schlewig: the lady was young, fair, and connected by marriage to the reigning family of Hapsburg. The prince, consequently, attached great importance to this union, and hurried on its completion by all the means in his power. While this was occurring, count Oclau was obliged by the settlement of some important business, to leave home, and go for some days to a town about twenty leagues distant. The young man bade farewell to his sister, got into a post chaise, and set out. On the next day, at about eight p.m., he arrived at the town of Bruneck, and stopped at a house belonging to him, which was in the vicinity of the principal square of the town, and only a few yards from the governor's palace."

"Bruneck is a very pretty little Tyrolese town, built on the right bank of the Rienz; the population, amounting to fifteen or sixteen hundred at the most, still retain the patriarchal, simple and stern manner of sixty years ago. Count Oclau remarked with surprise on entering the town that the greatest agitation prevailed there: in spite of the advanced hour, the streets his chaise passed through were filled with a restless crowd, who were running about in all directions with singular vociferations; most of the houses were illuminated, while large bonfires were lighted on the market square. So soon as the count had entered his house; he inquired as he sat down to supper the cause of this extraordinary excitement. This is what he learned:—Tyrol is an excessively mountainous country—the Switzerland of Austria; now, most of these mountains serve as lurking places for numerous bands of malefactors, whose sole occupation is to plunder the travellers whom their unlucky star brings within reach, to plunder the villages, and even towns at times. For some years a bandit chief, more adroit and enterprising than the rest, at the head of a considerable band of resolute and well-disciplined men, had desolated the country, attacking travellers, burning and plundering the villages, and not hesitating, in case of need, to resist detachments of soldiers sent in pursuit of him, who very frequently returned much maltreated from their encounters with him. This man, in the end, inspired the population of this country with such terror that the inhabitants had grown to tacitly recognize his authority, and obey him tremblingly, as they felt persuaded that it was impossible to vanquish him. The Austrian Government naturally refused to admit this compact made with the brigands, and resolving to destroy them at any price, employed the most energetic efforts to capture the chief. For a very long period all the efforts were fruitless; this man, admirably served by his spies, was kept perfectly well acquainted with the attempts about to be made against him; he formed his plans in consequence, and easily succeeded in escaping from his pursuers, and foiling all the traps that were laid for him."

"But what force had been unable to affect treachery at last accomplished. One of the associates of Red Arm (such was the bandit's alias) dissatisfied with the share given him in a rich booty made a few days previously, and believing himself injured by the chief, resolved to take vengeance by betraying him."

"A week later Red Arm was surprised by the troop, and made prisoner with the principal members of his band."

"The few men who escaped, demoralized by the capture of their chief, soon fell in their turn into the hands of the soldiers, so that the entire band was destroyed."

"The trial of the bandits was not a long one; they had been condemned to death, and executed immediately. The chief and two of his first lieutenants were alone reserved, in order to render their punishment more exemplary. They were to be executed on the morrow, and that was the reason why the town of Bruneck was in such a state of excitement."

"The neighbouring peasants had flocked out to witness the punishment of the man before whom they had so long trembled, and in order not to miss this spectacle which had such attractions for them, they camped in the streets and in the squares, impatiently awaiting the hour for the execution."

"The count attached but very slight importance to the news; and as he felt tired from having travelled two days along execrable roads, he prepared to go to bed soon after supper."

"Just as he was entering his bedroom a servant appeared, and exchanged a few words in a low voice with the valet."

"'What is it?' count Oclau asked, turning round."

"'Pardon, my lord,' the servant respectfully replied, 'but a person desires to speak to your Excellency.'"

"'Speak to me at this hour?' he said, in surprise, 'It is impossible; I have hardly arrived ere my coming is known: tell the man to return tomorrow, it is too late tonight.'"

"'I told him so, my lord, and he replied that tomorrow would be too late.'"

"'This is extraordinary! Who is the man?'"

"'A priest, my lord, and he added, that what he has to tell your Excellency is most serious, and that he earnestly implores you to receive him.'"

"The young man, greatly perplexed at a visit at so late an hour, repaired the disorder in his dress, and wandered to the dining room, curious about the solution of this enigma."

"A priest was standing in the centre of the room. He was a very aged man, his hair, white as snow, fell in long masses on his shoulders, and gave him a venerable appearance, which was completed by the expression of goodness and calm grandeur spread over his face."

"The count bowed to him respectfully, and begged him to be seated."

"'Excuse me, my lord,' he replied with a bow, and still remained on his feet, 'I am the prison chaplain: you have doubtless heard of the arrest of certain malefactors?'"

"'Yes, sir; some vague information on the subject has been given me.'"

"'Several of these unhappy men,' he continued, 'have already endured the terrible fate to which human justice condemned them. The most guilty of all, their chief, is about to undergo his at sunrise tomorrow.'"

"'I am aware of it.'"

"'This man,' the chaplain went on, 'on the point of appearing before God, his supreme judge, to whom he will have a terrible account to render, has felt, owing to my efforts to lead him to repentance, remorse enter his heart. Your arrival in this town which he learnt I know not how, has appeared to him a warning of Providence. He at once sent for me, and begged me to go to you, my lord.'"

"'To me!' the young man exclaimed, in amazement, 'What can there be in common between me and this villain?'"

"'I do not know, my lord, for he told me nothing on that subject. He implores you to proceed to his dungeon, as he desires to reveal to you a secret of the highest importance.'"

"'What you say, confounds me, sir: this man is an utter stranger to me; I do not comprehend in what way my life can be mixed up with his.'"

"'He will doubtless explain this to you, my lord; but I advise you to consent to the interview this man implores,' the priest answered without any hesitation. 'For many years I have been a prison chaplain, and have seen many criminals die. Men do not speak falsely in the presence of death. The strongest and bravest man becomes very small and weak when facing that unknown thing called Eternity; he begins to tremble, and, no longer daring to hope the goodness of men, he turns to that of God. Red Arm, the unhappy man who is about to die tomorrow, knows that nothing can save him from the terrible fate that awaits him: hence, for what object would he, on the threshold of death, request an interview with you, unless it be to redeem, by the revelation he wishes to make to you, one of his most horrible crimes, though it is possibly the least known of all. Believe me, my lord, the hand of Providence is in all this: it is no accident that brought you to this town precisely at the moment of this terrible expiation. Consent to follow me, and enter with me the dungeon where this unhappy man is doubtless awaiting, with the most lively anxiety, and while counting the minutes, your arrival. Even supposing that this revelation does not possess for you the importance this unhappy man fancies, could you refuse to grant this last consolation to a man who is about so fatally to be erased from the number of the living? I implore you, my lord, to consent to follow me.'"

"The young man's determination was soon formed. He wrapped himself in a cloak and set out of his house, accompanied by the priest. In spite of the late hour, for it was near midnight, the square was full of people. The crowd, far from diminishing, was increased every moment by the arrival of newcomers, who flocked in from the neighbouring villages. Bivouacs were everywhere established. The count and his guide forced their way with some difficulty through the crowd up to the prison, in front of which several sentries were posted."

"At a word from the chaplain the prison door was immediately opened. The count entered, and preceded by the worthy priest, and followed by a gaoler they went toward the condemned man's cell."

"The gaoler, with a torch in his hand, silently guided the two visitors along a numerous series of passages, and then, on reaching a door barred with iron from top to bottom, he checked him, uttering but one word:—'Enter!'"

"They went into the dungeon—we employ this usual term, although nothing less resembled a dungeon than the room they entered. It was a rather spacious cell, lighted by two gothic windows, lined with heavy bars on the exterior. The furniture consisted of a bed, that is to say, a frame on which a cow hide was stretched, a table and various chairs, while a looking glass hung on the wall. At the end of the room was an altar hung with black, for the condemned man was in chapel. Daily, since the passing of the sentence, the chaplain had said two low masses there for the culprit."

At this singular account of the capilla which only exists in Spain and her dependencies, the two hearers exchanged a side glance which the adventurer did not remark. The latter went on, without suspecting the error he had unreflectingly committed.

"The condemned man was seated in an equipal, with his head in his hand, with his elbow on the table, he was reading by the light of a smoky lamp."

"On the entrance of the visitors he immediately rose and bowed to them with the most exquisite politeness."

"'Gentlemen, pray take seats, and do me the honour of awaiting for a few minutes the arrival of the persons I have sent for,' he said, drawing up butacas, 'their presence is indispensable, for at a later date no one must be able to cast a doubt on the truth of the revelation I wish to make to you.'"

"The chaplain and the count gave a sign of assent and sat down. There was a silence for some minutes, only interrupted by the regular steps of the sentry stationed in the passage to guard the condemned man, and who passed and repassed in front of his dungeon."

"Red Arm had returned to his equipal, and seemed to be reflecting. The count took advantage of this circumstance to examine him attentively."

"He was a man of not more than forty years of age, he was of tall stature, and powerfully built, and his gestures displayed ease and elegance. His rather large head was, doubtless through a habit of commanding, thrown back, his features were handsome and strongly marked, while his glance had extraordinary intensity. A singular expression of gentleness and energy that was spread over his face, gave it a strange look impossible to describe; his black hair curling naturally, fell in large curls on his broad shoulders. His costume, entirely of black velvet, and peculiarly cut, formed a contrast to the dull pallor of his complexion, and added, even if possible, to the striking appearance of his whole person.&quo............