CHAPTER II.

PERSIDA.

"_Crimen falsi_," dictated the chair to the notary.

"But"--the prince made haste to add--"But, _immediatum_, not _spontaneum_. The accused was led to the indirect committal of the act by the instructions of Father Agapitus; the real criminal is a Jew--it is he who deserves the stake. Therefore, the prisoner's transgression may be remitted."

"If this continues," grumblingly commented the chair, "the prisoner will surely talk himself out of every one of his crimes. Well"--addressing himself to the accused--"I don't know what to call you, but for the time being Zdenko Kochanovszki, continue."

Under that name, your honor, resumed Hugo, I lived the most memorable days of my life. I was treated by the duke as a good comrade and familiar friend. We hunted together for days in the ducal forests slaying the wild bulls and bears by the hundreds; and when we returned to the palace the merry-making began. There would be feasting and drinking; the most enchanting music by a band of Bohemian players; the court-fools would amuse us with all sorts of buffoonery; and when any of the jovial company succumbed to the beaker and tumbled under the table the attendants carried them to bed. Not infrequently it happened that his grace and myself would be the only two left at the table--we being able to stand more than the others.

At times, too, I would entertain the company by relating the most wonderful tales of my pilgrimage, which were listened to with close attention.

In all this time I had not seen a single woman about the palace.

The grand-duchess was absent on a pilgrimage to Berdiczov, in fulfillment of a vow. I learned from one of the guests that the duke's marriage had not been blessed with an heir, and this was why the duchess had undertaken the devout journey. As she knew she should be absent several weeks, she took with her all the women servants, as well as her ladies-in-waiting--from which I guessed the fair Persida to be a shrewd, as well as a beautiful woman.

I waited her grace's return with no little apprehension, for, with the exception of the grand duke himself, every one about the palace knew that Zdenko Kochanovszki had been a devoted admirer of the lady before her marriage. Indeed, it was said that her marriage to the rich old duke had sent the youthful Zdenko on his pilgrimage.

That all this was unknown to his grace was certain, else the reception accorded to me, whom he believed to be his former boon companion, would not have been so cordial.

There would be some sport when the lady returned home.

Would she, too, see in me her quondam admirer? What would happen to me if the eyes of a loving woman should prove more keen than those of her husband? What would be the result if she saw through my masquerade? If she should say: "Away with this rogue--he is a deceiver! I know what dwells in the eyes of the true Zdenko, for I have looked into them. These are not Zdenko's eyes."

And again: what would happen if she should believe me to be her one-time lover? and question me as her husband had done: "Do you remember the promise we gave to each other?" And, suppose I should be as lucky in guessing the reply as before!

* * * * *

The duke spoke boastfully of his dragoon's victory over the haidemaken before the walls of Berdiczov monastery. The robbers had been mowed down like grain; only the leader and a few of his men had escaped by the skin of their teeth; their field-gun had been captured and the gunner hanged on one of the tallest trees--your honors may guess that I took good care not to deny this statement!

I praised the duke's heroism, and listened attentively to his tales about the terrible haidemaken, as if I had never heard of them before.

At last, one fine day, the pilgrims returned from Berdiczov; and the joyous sound of women's voices was heard in the palace. Master and man hastened to welcome the fair ones. I alone had no one to greet.

I was very curious to see what manner of woman the beautiful Persida might be--she for whose sake the owner of my name had gone out into the wide world.

The duke hastened to assist her from the carriage on the arrival of the caravan. She was very graceful--tall, with a pale face, large, dark languishing eyes, full red lips, and coal black hair.

When her spouse pressed his moist moustache to her lips, she made a grimace. He was overjoyed at her return. The duke's guests and attendants welcomed the returned duchess, each in their own fashion; the former pressed their lips to her hand; the latter kissed the hem of her robe. I did not want my first meeting with her grace to take place in the presence of the entire household; but the duke called me from the hall, where I had withdrawn, and said:

"See here, my love, who is this? Look at him, and tell me if you recognize the lad?"

I was afraid to meet the glance which scrutinized my features--I felt that I should be compelled to blurt out:

"I am Baran, gunner of the haidemaken."

"You don't recognize him, do you?" again said the duke. "I knew you wouldn't. 'Tis our long absent comrade Zdenko Kochanovszki."

For one single instant I saw into that woman's soul. At mention of my name, a sudden light leapt into her eyes--a world of passion flamed for one brief instant.

Her husband had not seen it, only I. Then the beautiful eyes became cold again, and indifferent, and the queenly head was gravely bent in recognition of an old acquaintance, the slender fingers were extended for the formal kiss of greeting.

She did not vouchsafe another glance toward me, but turned toward the duke, laid her hand on his arm, and said with sudden friendliness:

"_Comment vous portez-vous, mon petit drole?_"

Although her grace took no further notice of me, I saw my way clear for the future.

With the return of the duchess the household regulations underwent a complete change. The noisy tipplers received their _conge_; the nightly carousals came to an end. Quite a different mode of life had been prescribed by the prior of the monastery for the ducal pair, if they wished his blessing to have the desired effect. All fast days were to be strictly observed; they might eat only sparingly of the plainest food--only of those dishes which conduce to strength: snails, frogs, and those vegetables which grow under ground.

This sort of diet, as you may guess, was not suited to the palates of the duke's guests. One after another took his departure, until none remained but myself; and I had become indispensable to his grace, because of my ability to amuse him with adventurous tales.

Every evening the duchess would send for me to read aloud in a religious book, about saints, until the duke would become sleepy. Her grace continued to treat me with extreme reserve; she never lifted her eyes to mine when she spoke to me, but always kept them lowered, as if she were addressing her remarks to my boots.

She appeared to be extraordinarily pious; she would repeat a long prayer before and at the end of every meal. She never called me by name--always "Sir." Indeed, the only time she unbent from her frigid reserve, was, when she patted her husband's fat, bearded cheek, or pulled his moustache, to restore him to a good humor; but these occasions were rare.

Before the duke retired for the night, the duchess prepared with her own fair hands his slumber draught, the recipe for which she had received from the prior of Berdiczov monastery. It was composed of all sorts of costly spices--an enumeration of which I may repeat later, should I take up the trade of concocting various potations, the efficacy of which may not be doubted.

The chief ingredient of the duke's sleeping potion was hot, red wine; and he was wont to smack his lips and exclaim after he had emptied the glass:

"Ah!--my love, that has quite rejuvenated me." He would spring lightly as a youth from his arm-chair, take his wife's hand, and gallantly conduct her to their private chambers, leaving me to the solitary perusal of the pious volume--to learn what had happened to St. Genevieve, when Attila's Huns besieged Paris.

One evening we were engaged as usual with our instructive reading. The duke and his wife were seated in front of the fire-place; I, as always, occupied a chair at the table on which rested the ponderous "History of the Saints and Martyrs." I had been reading for an hour and more, how St. Genevieve had relieved Paris a second time from famine, when the duke suddenly interrupted to say he was so thirsty he must beg that his nightly potion be given to him at once. His wife prepared it for him; but, instead of rising to retire to his own rooms as usual, after he had emptied the glass, he settled himself back in his chair, clasped his hands over his paunch, and in a few minutes his powerful snoring again interrupted the reading.

The duchess looked at him for several moments with an indescribable expression on her lovely face--a mixture of loathing, rage, and contempt; then, she sprang to her feet, came swiftly toward the table where I was sitting, and gave it so vigorous a thrust with her foot that it toppled over and fell, together with the Saints and Martyrs, to the floor with a loud noise. His grace did not stir; his snores continued with unabated vigor.

Before I had recovered from my astonishment at her grace's behavior, she seated herself on my knee and flung her arms around my neck:

"So you have come back to me, Zdenko? Tell me, do you still love me?" she asked in a passionate whisper, at the same time making it impossible for me to reply--

"Stop!" here interrupted the chair: "I don't quite understand how that could be?"

"I do," promptly, and succinctly interposed the prince. "Continue, prisoner, what happened next?"

I hardly know how to tell it, your highness. It was like a dream of paradise! I knew that every kiss I received and returned was deceit, robbery, sacrilege; I knew I was cheating the house which sheltered me; the master of the house who fed me; the unknown man whose name I bore--the woman--God--the devil--all--all. And yet, were you to ask me what I should do were I to be placed in the same situation again, I should reply: "Just what I did then--and if it cost me my life!"

"Hardened reprobate!" exclaimed the chair in a tone of reprimand. Then he dictated to the notary: "_Adulterium cum stellionatum_--"

"But," hastily interposed the prince, "he did not begin it. In this case, as in that of Father Adam: the woman was to blame. The prisoner will continue."

I know it was a great crime--I know it very well, and it oppresses my soul to this day, although I have received absolution for it. In that moment of oblivion to all things earthly, the lovely Persida whispered in my ear:

"Zdenko, if you could journey to the Holy Land for love of me you could also endure a season of purgatory for my sake, could you not?"

Without stopping to consider, I answered:

"Certainly I could!"

"Very well, then, do not confess this sin which is half mine. Do not confide it to priest, or saint, for no matter to whom you might confess, misfortune would come to me as well as to you."

I promised not to confess the sin; but I went about with it weighting my soul, much as a wounded stag roams the forest with a dart in his vitals.

The old duke at last became so devout that he compelled every member of his household to repair to the confessional in his private chapel, every fast day. There was nothing to be seen of the priest who received the penitents, but his hand, in which he held a long ivory wand with which he would touch the penitent as a sign that absolution had been granted.

The duke confessed first; after him the duchess; then I, the house-friend, and major-domo of the ducal household. When my turn came, I took my place before the lattice and said to the confessor: "Father, will you give me your word of honor that you will never tell what I confess to you?"

"Don't ask such silly questions, my son," he replied. "Don't you know that the secrets of the confessional are inviolably sacred?"

"But, suppose you should tell them sometime?" I persisted.

"Then I should be burned at the stake."

"Has it never happened that a priest betrayed the secrets confided to him in the confessional?" I asked again.

"Such a case is not on record, my son. Not even the confession of a murderer may be revealed, though the priest knows that an innocent man will be hanged for the crime. He dare not speak to prevent the law from committing another murder. On the other hand, many a priest has suffered martyrdom rather than betray the secrets confided to him. An illustrious example is Saint Nepomuck, of whom I dare say you have heard?"

"Yes, I have read about John Nepomucene; but are you a saint of that order?"

"The vows I have taken, my son, are the same he took."

"That is not enough, father; you must swear to me that you will never reveal what I tell you."

And his reverence had to yield to my importunate request before I would make my confession to him. After he had solemnly sworn never to reveal what I should tell him, I made a clean breast of everything--and a rare list it was I can tell you!

At the last transgression, however, I made a pause. I remembered what Persida had said to me. And yet, the sin I shared with her was the very one that most oppressed my soul.

The father noticed my hesitation, and said:

"My son, you are keeping back something. You have not told me everything. It is not likely that a stately young gentleman like yourself lives only on caraway-soup! There are many handsome women in this city; every one of them confesses her foibles--you, surely, are not the only saint about here! Remember, if you withhold but a single transgression, your tortures in purgatory will be the same as for nine-hundred and ninety-nine."

The reverend father continued to threaten me with purgatorial fires, until at last I confided in him the secret which was only half mine. I had no sooner done so than I regretted it; I would have given anything could I have recalled my words--nay, I would willingly have journeyed straightway to purgatory, as I had told Persida I would, rather than betray the secret we shared together. But the secrets of a sinful love have wings--they will escape somehow.

When I bent forward to receive the reverend father's benediction, he gave me such a thump on the head with his wand that the spot remained sore to the touch for several days.

"He absolves one with a will, and no mistake!" I said to myself as I rose to go my way. It occurred to me for an instant, that it would be exceedingly comical if, instead of a priest, it had been the duke who received my confession. I turned to look toward his grace's arm-chair, and was relieved to see that his burly form occupied it, and that he was wrapped in devout slumber.

THE IRON NECKLACE.

Freed from the burden of my transgressions, I proceeded to do what is usually done by the prodigal sons who have been relieved of their old debts--I set about at once to make new ones.

I looked forward with impatience for evening to arrive, for the hour of instructive reading in the book of Saints and Martyrs.

On this particular evening the duke was even more friendly toward me than usual; he jested with me, and frequently compelled me to exchange glasses with him as a sign of his cordial friendship.

When the hour arrived for the duchess to prepare the "rejuvenating sleeping potion," his grace became actually boisterous; his fat face grew crimson, his rotund paunch shook like jelly, with his incessant laughter.

"See here, comrade," he exclaimed, taking from his wife's hand the goblet in which the hot, spiced wine was steaming, "this is a drink of paradise! When I have emptied it into my stomach, I fly direct to paradise--not the one described by our holy men, where all the men are old, and all the women pious; where there is neither eating nor drinking and where there are no amusements save harp-playing and psalm singing--no, I fly straightway to the improved paradise of the Mohammedans, where there is wine to drink and women to admire. There an enchanting Greek _Hetaere_ offers you the wine of Cyprus; the Roman bacchante offers Falernian wine; the Spanish donna serves Maderia; the Lesbian siren gives you nectar; the Persian bayadere brings Shiraz; the Wallachian fairy, Tokay; and the negress Abelera dips up sparkling Bordeaux in the hollow of her dusky palm and holds it to your lips--each more beautiful than the other, until at last you cannot decide which of the wines is the most delicious. That is _I_ cannot, for you have not yet made the journey. But you shall; for are not we good comrades--you and I? Is it not meet that I should let my heart's brother enjoy paradisal delights with me? To be sure it is! Very good! You shall go in my stead this very evening to Mohammed's paradise--but only this once, mind you! Here, take the glass, empty it to the dregs!" I was exceedingly embarrassed; I looked questioningly toward the duchess, who was seated on the arm of her husband's chair. He could not see her nod her head as if to say, "Do as you are bid."

I took the goblet and emptied it to the dregs. Almost immediately I was overcome by a languor that seemed to transform my material body to vapor. I rose from the earth to the clouds which assumed the most fantastic shapes; on and on the breeze wafted me; over enchanting regions, amid talking trees and singing fruits; across a sea of radiant light swept by waves of harmony--amid music, and color, and perfumes, the quintessence of sweetness, amid gorgeous flames which became forms of transcendent loveliness: Delilah; Bathsheba; Salome; Lais; Aspasia; Cleopatra; Semiramis; Circe; and the dusky Atalanta. The seductive forms gathered around me; they pressed toward me, smiling alluringly. They thrust on to every one of my fingers rings that glittered with diamonds, rubies, sapphires, until my hands became so heavy I could not lift them. Their embraces strangled me; their kisses burned on my face and neck like fire; the dusky Atalanta's coral lips drew the blood from my veins--

"Are you never going to waken from your satanic dream?" impatiently interrupted the chair.

"Let him dream--it is rather pleasant," interposed the prince; but Hugo said:

"I am awake. The place in which I found myself, when I opened my eyes, was not Mohammed's paradise, but an underground dungeon, the walls of which were dripping with moisture. The flickering light of a small lamp faintly illumined the narrow cell; and the rings which weighted my hands were heavy iron chains that creaked and clinked every movement I made. The kisses which burned on my face and neck were not from the lips of Delilah, Circe, and the rest; but from those horrible hundred-legged creatures, scolopendra, which covered my body; and the dusky Atalanta, who drew the blood from my neck, was nothing less than a hideous vampyre. The embraces which strangled me were not from the white arms of enchantresses, but from an iron band two inches thick and three fingers wide, fastened about my neck, and secured to a ring in the wall by a chain, that was only long enough to allow me to reach and convey to my mouth the mouldy bread and jug of water placed by my side--"

"Served you right, you godless miscreant!" interpolated the chair in a severe tone. "You got your just deserts at last!"

At first--continued the prisoner--I consoled myself with the foolish thought that I was still under the influence of the sleeping potion. I remembered that those persons who eat the flesh of sharks are said to have such dreams: delightful visions at first, followed by the tortures of martyrdom.

But the iron neck-band was too painful a reality for me to remain long in doubt as to whether I was awake, or dreaming. The cold, hard, heavy ring betrothed me to death!

How long a time I passed in thinking over what had happened I can't say; there was no night, no day, in that dungeon; nor was I told by sleep and hunger when it was midnight or noon.

The lamp in my cell was a perpetual one, for the oil did not grow less; it was there, doubtless, to reveal to me all the horrors of my surroundings. Reptiles, all manner of creeping and crawling creatures moved over the stone floor and walls; vampyres hung in rows from the ceiling, watching me with their garnet eyes, ready to flash down on me the moment I lost consciousness in sleep.

At last a sound roused me from the stupor into which I had fallen; a key turned in the lock, the iron door opened, and a tall man, whose face was hidden by a capuchin, entered, with a jug of water and a loaf of bread.

"Well, my lad," he exclaimed, on seeing that I had not touched the bread or the water by my side. "Do you propose to starve yourself?"

His voice sounded strangely familiar; I did not have to trouble my brain guessing where I had heard it before; he pushed back his capuchin, and I recognized the haidemaken priest who had performed the ceremony of confirmation over me in the cavern.

"You are the haidemaken pater?" I whispered hoarsely, not trusting myself to speak aloud.

"Then you recognize me, do you?" he returned, laughing. "I had an idea you would deny all knowledge of our former comradeship."

"Are you the gaoler here?" I asked.

"The gaoler?" he repeated, laughing again. "Not by a good deal! I am the court-confessor!" He sat down on the stone seat to which I was chained, and continued: "I dare say you are curious to learn how I come to be here? Well, when the duke's dragoons attacked the haidemaken at Berdiczov, I hastily donned my chasuble and capuchin, trusting to the vestments to save my life, which they did; but I was taken prisoner and brought to the duke. I could not deny that I was a haidemak, but his grace evidently had use for a person like myself, for he said to me: "You deserve to be hanged, reverend father, but I will spare your life on condition that you accept a proposition I shall offer you: I want you to act the part of court-confessor for a season, to receive the confessions of those persons I shall send to you. I suspect my wife of infidelity, but cannot find out who is the partner of her guilt. They both confess to the court-chaplain I have no doubt, but he is an honest old saint who would let himself be torn to pieces rather than betray the secrets confided to him in the confessional. Now, you are of a different pattern; it will not matter to you if the fires of purgatory are heated a few degrees hotter for your purification. If you don't accept my conditions you will have the opportunity at once of testing the temperature of purgatory; if you accept you shall have a respite. What do you say? Will you become my court-confessor?"

"You may believe, lad, that I would have acceded to a much more difficult proposition in order to save my neck from the gallows; so I became confessor to the ducal household. When I saw you coming toward the confessional I recognized you at once, and guessed that you would have some pretty sins to get rid of. I was not surprised when you told me of your sinful dalliance with the beautiful young duchess; and quite envied your good fortune. I said to myself, 'I will not betray the lad; but make him do penance for the sin,' so I ordered you to put seven dried peas in each shoe and journey on foot to the shrine of the Holy Virgin at Berdiczov. Had you been content to do as I bade you, you would not be here now; but you began to haggle with me about the peas--you urged me to let you boil them before you put them into your shoes; and, to win my indulgence, you told me of the good turn you had done the monks of Berdiczov by betraying the haidemaken into the hands of the duke's dragoons. Ha! but didn't I want to fly at your throat when I heard that! I wanted to strangle you, I was so enraged to hear that it was you who had betrayed us and frustrated our fine plans to secure the monks' treasure. However, I contented myself with giving you a sound rap on the head and straightway communicated to his grace what you had confessed. You have got for your reward the entire ducal property, for you are chained to it so securely you cannot get away from it."

The next query I put to the cursed haidemaken priest was: "What has been done with the duchess?"

"You need not trouble yourself about her highness, my son; the duke is too shrewd a man of the world to make public the disgrace of his house. The beautiful Persida does not know that she has been betrayed. The causes assigned for your incarceration are forgery; the usurpation of the name of a noble knight; and for being a member of a robber band--for all of which you deserve death. That you have been condemned to suffer a hundred deaths for your dalliance with the lovely Persida, instead of only one for the transgressions assigned, no one will ever know. As for the duchess: one of these fine days she will, after eating a peach or a pear, get a severe colic that will result in her death. The funeral ceremonies in the Vieznovieczky palace will be most imposing--and that will be the end of her grace. It might come to pass, however, that the obsequies of his grace might precede those of the duchess. It depends on which of the ducal pair gets the better of the other! But, you have only yourself to think of, my son. I am here to offer you one of two alternatives: Ask to be tried before a court which will sentence you to immediate death on the wheel--unless the duke out of compassion for a good comrade orders your head to be cut off. The other alternative is: Elect to remain in this hole, chained to the wall, battling with vermin while you live, and becoming food for them when the breath leaves your body. _Tertium non datur._"

To this I made answer that I preferred to be executed without delay, even were I to be broiled on a gridiron over a slow fire. I was quite ready to die.

"Very well, my son, then I will proceed at once to administer to you the last sacraments--"

"Go to the devil!" I cried furiously, when he approached me with the wafer he had taken from his pocket. "I won't have any more of your cursed mummery. You are no better than I am--you too are sure to go to hell!"

"That is more than likely, my son," responded the accursed priest composedly. "The only difference between us is in the manner of our journeying thither. You will travel on foot--I on wheels. So, don't you think it would be well to let me give you a lift on the way? With the heavy pack of sins on your back you might hang on to the tail-board of my wagon!"

I could not help but laugh at the rascal, so I said: "Very well, if your blessing will help me over the road more quickly, go ahead and let's have it!--and may the devil fly away with you!"

He thrust the wafer down my throat and I had hardly got it comfortably swallowed when I fell into a deep sleep. The wafer contained a powerful narcotic.

THE WHITE DOVE.

In my death-like sleep I still saw the dungeon walls, still felt the iron fetters on neck, hands and feet. Instead of the tiny lamp flame, however, which had only dimly lighted the musty cell, a radiant light now filled it--a light that came from overhead. When, with great difficulty, I lifted my face toward the ceiling, I beheld an ethereal form bending above me; her white garments gleamed like snow under brilliant sunshine; her blue mantle was like the starry sky of evening. The coronet above her brow was like the crescent moon. The face was so radiant I could not look at it--my eyes were dazzled as when I gazed into the noon-day sun. The radiant vision held on her right arm an infant; the forefinger of its right hand was pressed against its lips. I believed the Holy Virgin had descended to me; but when the vision came nearer to me, kissed me, and called me by name, then I knew that it was my Madus--my poor deserted, forgotten Madus!

I was so ashamed of the fetters which bound me. If she should ask why I wore them, how could I reply? "I wear them because of the beautiful woman who caused me to forget you."

But she did not ask any questions; she smiled tenderly, and said in her gentle tones:

"My poor Baran! How unhappy you seem! Cheer up--we are come to help you--to release you. My home is now in paradise--I will tell you how I came to dwell there. On Christmas eve, I was kneeling in front of the holy image you brought to me from Berdiczov, expecting every minute the arrival of the little guest for my Bethlehem crib, when I heard a familiar step outside the cottage. It was my father. I hurriedly snatched the blessed image from the table to hide it, for I knew the sight of it would anger him; but I was seized with such a terrible pain in my heart I had to press the image against it with both hands. I hardly recognized my father. His face was fearfully cut, and mutilated; one eye was gone. "Your precious Baran betrayed us," he gasped, glaring at me with the remaining eye. I opened my lips to speak for you, but before I could utter a word he said again: "You are his accomplice, you miserable creature! What are you hiding in your breast?" I could not lie, so I told him it was the image of the Blessed Virgin. "A gift from the Berdiczov monks I'll warrant!" he shrieked, seizing my hair and flinging me on the floor. I heard the keen blade of his cimeter hiss through the air--then, it seemed as if the sky fell over me. The next instant I found myself in paradise, with every pain changed to bliss. I may not reveal to you the secrets of that blessed realm, my Baran. I may only tell you that our little child is with me--he was born in heaven. This is he--he is come to save his father from death."

As she spake these words the child bent toward me and took hold of the chains which bound my feet and hands. They fell asunder at his touch. But the iron band around my neck was too wide for his tiny fingers to clasp; it was impossible for him to break it. But he did what twenty-four horses could not have done: with one pull he drew from the wall the iron ring to which the neck-band was secured by a chain.

"My blessed child!" I exclaimed, kissing the little hands. "If your strength is so great, then seize hold of my hair, and bear me with you to your home above the clouds."

The little one laid his finger against his lips as a sign that he could not, or dared not speak; but the mother answered for him:

"No, my good Baran, you cannot come to us. Before that will be possible you will have to endure many more trials in this world of shadows. You will have to abide here until you shall have performed a good deed for which some one will say to you: 'God reward you.' One single good deed, my Baran, will do more toward winning paradise than a hundred pilgrimages, or a thousand prayers."

How sinful I am, your honors, is proved by the fact that I am still alive; and as it is not likely that I shall have an opportunity to perform the deed, which will call down on me a blessing from heaven, I shall never again behold my little angel son, and his mother, my sainted Madus.

After the vision had spoken she beckoned me to follow her. The child touched the wall of the dungeon with his fingers, the stones parted, and we passed through the opening. The radiant form of my Madus illuminated the passage amid the rocks, the long flights of stairs we ascended. We seemed to thread our way through the catacombs. At last we emerged from the subterranean region into a dense forest. I saw how the shining garments of my conductress swept over the moss, giving to it, to the flowers, the grass, the trees, the same soft radiance that emanated from her form. Gradually the distance between me and the lovely vision widened; my feet became leaden; I could hardly move my limbs. Then the radiant appearance lost its human shape, until at last it seemed to me that I was looking down a long avenue between the trees at a faint glimmering light at the further end. The cold air blew across my face, and I awoke.

I was in the forest of my dream, around me were mammoth trees between which, a long way off, I could see the glimmering light of the open. The same beggar raiment I had worn to journey to Lemberg clothed me; my crutch, emptied of its gold, lay by my side. I made my way toward the light at the edge of the forest. I could see no signs of human habitation anywhere. How far I was from the scene of my magnificence and disgrace I cannot say. When I looked at my beggar's rags, I could easily have believed my Lemberg experience an evil dream, had not the iron band about my neck been too convincing a proof of its reality.

"Well," here observed the prince, drawing a long breath, "that is a most remarkable story!--a miraculous rescue of a transgressor through the aid of the Almighty Father!"

To this the chair added: "I am inclined to believe that the prisoner's escape from the dungeon was effected through earthly, rather than heavenly assistance. It is more likely that the haidemaken priest, bribed by the duchess, conveyed the prisoner to the forest, and clad him in the rags which had been procured from the Jew Malchus."

"_I_ believe the story just as the accused told it," asseverated his highness. "There are a number of similar cases on record--of notorious bandits having been released from imprisonment by the hands of an unborn babe."

"And I assure your highness"--Hugo ventured to insist--"that everything happened just as I related it. From the moment of my waking in the forest, a white dove nestled on my left shoulder, and accompanied me wherever I went. If I turned to look at it, when it would coo into my ear, it would fly to my right shoulder; but it seemed to prefer sitting on my left."

"Is the white dove sitting on either of your shoulders now?" queried the chair.

"No, your honor," sadly replied the prisoner; "it is not there now. I will tell you later how I came to lose it."

The prince announced his decision as follows:

"As the prisoner's release from the dungeon was accomplished through a miracle from heaven, it would not be seemly for a human judge to oppose divine favor. This transgression, therefore, may also be erased from the register."