‘A gloomy shake of the head was the only reply.
‘“All?” said I, trembling at the word.
‘“All!” repeated she, in an accent whose pride seemed almost amounting to ferocity.
‘“Would I had perished with them!” cried I, in the bitterness of my heart, and I turned my face away and gave myself up to my grief.
‘As if sorry for the burst of feeling she had caused me, she sat down beside my bed, took my hand in hers, and placed her cold lips upon it, while she murmured some words of comfort. Like water to the seared, parched lips of some traveller in the desert, the accents fell upon my almost broken heart, suggesting a thought of hope where, all was darkness and despair, I listened to each word with a tremulous fear lest she should cease to speak, and dreading that my ecstasy were but a dream. From that hour, I wished to live; a changed spirit came over me, and I felt as though with higher and more ennobling thoughts I should once more tread the earth. Yes, from the humble lips of a peasant girl I learned to feel that the path I once deemed the only road to heroism and high ambition could be but “the bandit’s trade,” who sells his blood for gain. That war which animated by high-souled patriotism can call forth every sentiment of a great and generous nature, becomes in an unjust cause the lowest slavery and degradation. Lydchen seldom quitted my bedside, for my malady took many turns, and it was long—many months—after that I was enabled to leave my bed and move up and down the chapel.
‘Meanwhile the successes of our army had gradually reduced the whole country beneath French rule, and except in the very fastnesses of the mountains the Tyrolese had nowhere they could call their own. Each day some peasant would arrive from the valleys with information that fresh troops were pouring in from Germany, and the hopes of the patriotic party fell lower and lower. At last one evening as I sat on the steps of the little altar, listening to Lydchen reading for me some Tyrol legend, a wild shout in the street of the village attracted our notice, which seemed to gain strength as it came nearer. She started up suddenly, and throwing down her book rushed from the chapel. In another moment she was back beside me, her face pale as a corpse, and her limbs trembling with fear.
‘“What has happened? Speak, for God’s sake! what is it?” said I.
‘“The French have shot the prisoners in the Platz at Innspruck! twenty-eight have fallen this morning,” cried she, “seven from this very village; and now they cry aloud for your blood; hear them, there!”
‘And as she spoke a frightful yell hurst from the crowd without, and already they stood at the entrance to the chapel, which even at such a time they had not forgotten was a sanctuary. The very wounded men sat up in their beds and joined their feeble cries to those without, and the terrible shout of “blood for blood!” rang through the vaulted roof.
‘“I am ready,” said I, springing up from the low step of the altar. “They must not desecrate this holy spot with such a crime. I am ready to go where you will.”