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as though Franz was helplessly detained before the castle, perhaps by one of those secret presentiments which the heart cannot account for. Was he, then, chained to the ground like Doctor Patak said he had been in the ditch at the foot of the curtain? No; his feet were free from every fetter. He could move about on the plateau as he chose, and, if he wished, nothing could have prevented him from going round the walls, skirting the edge of the counterscarp.
Perhaps he would do so?
So thought Rotzko, who said for the last time,—
“Are you coming, master?”
“Yes, yes!” replied Franz. And he remained motionless.
The Orgall plateau was already in darkness. The shadow of the hills had spread over the buildings, whose outlines were all vague and misty. Soon nothing would be visible if no light shone from the windows of the donjon.
“Come, master, come!” said Rotzko. And Franz was about to follow him, when on the platform of the bastion, where stood the legendary beech, there appeared an indistinct shape.
Franz stopped, looking at the shape, whose outline gradually became clearer.
It was a woman with her hair undone, her hands stretched out, enveloped in a long white robe.
But this costume, was it not that which La Stilla wore in that final scene in “Orlando” in which Franz de Télek had seen her for the last time?
Yes! And it was La Stilla; motionless, with her arms stretched out towards the young count, her penetrating gaze fixed on him.
“She!” he cried.
And rushing towards the ditch he would have rolled to the foot of the wall if Rotzko had not stopped him.
But the apparition suddenly faded, and La Stilla was hardly visible for a minute.
Little did it matter. A second would have sufficed for Franz to recognize her, and these words escaped him:
“She! and alive!”
CHAPTER XII
Was it possible? La Stilla, whom Franz de Télek thought never to see again, had just appeared on the platform of the bastion! He had not been the sport of an illusion, and Rotzko had seen her as he had done! It was indeed the great artiste in her costume of Angelica, such as she had worn in public at her last performance at San Carlo.
The terrible truth flashed across the young count. This adored woman, who was to have been the Countess of Télek, had been shut up for five years in this castle amid the Transylvanian mountains! She whom Franz had seen fall dead on the stage had survived! While he had been carried almost dying to the hotel, the Baron Rodolphe must have found her and carried her off to the Castle of the Carpathians; and it was an empty coffin that the whole population had followed to the Santo Campo Nuovo of Naples!
It all appeared incredible, inadmissible, contrary to probability; and Franz said so to himself over and over again. Yes! But one thing was indubitable: La Stilla must have been carried off by the Baron de Gortz, for she too was in the castle! She was alive, for she had just appeared above the wall! That was an absolute fact.
The young count endeavoured to collect his thoughts, which were centred on one single object: to rescue from Rodolphe de Gortz La Stilla, who for five years had been a prisoner in the Castle of the Carpathians.
“Rotzko,” said Franz in a breathless voice. “listen to me. Understand me at least; it seems as though my brain were going,—
“My master—my dear master!”
“At all costs I must enter this castle this very night.”
“No; to-morrow.”
“This night, I tell you! She is there. She has seen me as I saw her. She is waiting for me—”
“Well, I will follow you.”
“No. I will go alone.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“But how can you get into the castle when Nic Deck was not able to?”
“I will go in, I tell you.”
“The gate is shut.”
“It will not be so for me. I will seek for and I will find a breach. I will get through it.”
“You do not wish me to accompany you, master? You do not wish it?”
“No! We will separate; and it is by leaving me that you will serve me.”
“Shall I wait for you here?”
“No, Rotzko.”
“Where shall I go, then?”
“To Werst—or rather—no—not to Werst,” replied Franz. “There would be no use in those people knowing. Go down to Vulkan and stay the night there. If you do not see me, leave Vulkan in the morning—that is to say—no—wait a few hours. Then go to Karlsburg. There go to the chief of the police. Tell him all that has happened. Then return with his men. If necessary, storm the castle. Deliver her! Ah! She—alive—in the power of Rodolphe de Gortz!”
And as the young count uttered these broken sentences Rotzko noticed that his excitement increased, and manifested itself in the disordered ideas of one who was no longer master of himself.
“Go, Rotzko!” he cried for the last time.
“You wish me to?”
“I do.”
At this formal injunction Rotzko could but obey; particularly as Franz had begun to leave him, and the darkness hid him from view.
Rotzko remained a few moments where he was, unable to decide on going away. Then the idea occurred to him that the count’s efforts would be in vain; that he would not be able to enter the castle, nor even to get through the outer wall; that he would be compelled to return to the village of Vulkan—perhaps next morning, perhaps that night. The two of them would then go to Karlsburg, and what neither of them could do alone would be done by the police. They would settle with this Baron de Gortz; they would rescue the unfortunate La Stilla; they would search this Castle of the Carpathians; they would not leave one stone upon another, if necessary, even if all the fiends imaginable united to defend it.
And Rotzko descended the slopes of the Orgall plateau, so as to return to the Vulkan road.
Following the edge of the counterscarp, Franz had already gone round the bastion which flanked it on the left.
A thousand thoughts crowded in his mind. There was now no doubt about the presence of the Baron de Gortz in the castle, for La Stilla was a prisoner therein. It could only be the baron. La Stilla alive! But how could Franz get to her? How could he get her out of the castle? He did not know, but it must be done—and it would be done. The obstacles which Nic Deck could not overcome he would overcome. It was not curiosity which had brought him among these ruins, it was love for the woman he had found alive, yes, alive! After believing her to be dead, he would rescue her from Rodolphe de Gortz!
Doubtless Franz had said to himself that he could only obtain admission to the interior by means of the south curtain, in which the gate opened opposite the drawbridge; and seeing that it was impossible for him to scale the high walls, he continued to skirt the crest of the Orgall plateau, as soon as he had turned the angle at the bastion.
In broad daylight there would not have been much difficulty in this. At night—the moon was not yet up—a night all the darker from the mists which thicken on the mountains, it was more dangerous. To the danger of a false step, to the danger of a fall to the bottom of the