"Misfortune has its peculiar privileges," replied Althea in a faint and tuneless voice; "I was prepared for all harshness when I resolved to come here, and you can treat me as seems good and proper to yourself; but you must hear me once again; I will not stir from this spot first."
"Speak, then, that I may at last get quit of this torment."
"My intended husband is condemned to die. I will no longer contend with you whether he has deserved death, or whether you have a right to inflict it; but the power of pardon belongs incontestably to the emperor. I, therefore, only implore you to defer the execution of the sentence till the return of a messenger whom I will despatch to Vienna with my supplication. That cannot militate against your office. On the contrary, it would become you not to anticipate the clemency of your master in a business wherein you must yourself confess you are a party. In the meantime let the condemned remain in your power, and if the emperor pronounces the dreadful NO, we must submit to what cannot be avoided."
"Let the Herr von Tausdorf live, dear burgomaster," said the little Henry, at other times so defying, but now in tears, and kissed the hand of Erasmus with humility. "I am a fatherless orphan, and he would be so good a father to me!"
But the burgomaster withdrew his hand from the child, and eyed now him, now Althea, with piercing glances.
"Take our share in Bogendorf for the brief respite," cried Althea, observing the inveteracy in the eyes of Erasmus. "I will readily make it over to you this very day, and support myself and my son by the labour of my hands, if by that I can only purchase the slightest hope for the safety of the man whom my soul loves."
"You are a fair and a wise lady, Frau von Netz," said the burgomaster at last; "but the old Erasmus is yet too wise for you. You will not find in him the fool you seek."
"Let mercy prevail!" cried Althea in despair, and embraced his knees with wild energy. "Let mercy prevail, as you would that God should one day be merciful to you!"
"Back!" exclaimed the burgomaster indignantly, and pushed her from him. "My son is dead. Neither your wealth nor your tears can make him alive again. Blood demands blood, and Tausdorf must die!"
"Not another word of supplication," cried the little Henry to his mother, who was exhausted by her agony; "tis a pity you offered any to the wicked man. Has not uncle Netz told you a hundred times that the rich burgomaster is as cold and as hard as the dollars of which he is always boasting so much? Come, mother; we cannot beg the good man free, and therefore we will weep for him as long as we have eyes. But this house is not worthy of your tears;"--and then turning to Erasmus, he said, with a dignity and spirit beyond his years, "You have heavily vexed and offended the Frau von Netz, Mr. Burgomaster, and it is the duty of a good son to avenge every insult which his mother has had to endure. At present my arm is not strong enough for my inclination; but, please God, I shall grow every day larger and stouter, and I think to be able to wield the sword shortly. For this time I denounce feud against you, and whatever may come of it, murder or fire, I shall have set my honour above your impeachment."