Though I lay down in bed I could not sleep; a strange feeling of dread, an anxious fear of something undefined, was over me; and at every noise I arose and looked out of the window, and down the streets, which were all still and silent. The terrible events of the tale were like a nightmare on my mind, and I could not dismiss them. At last I fell into a half slumber, from which I was awakened by the Baron’s servant. His master was dangerously ill; another attack had seized him, and he was lying senseless. I hastened to the room, where I found the sick man stretched half dressed upon the bed, his face purple, and his eyeballs strained to bursting; his breathing was heavy, and broken by a low, tremulous quaver, that made each respiration like a half-suppressed sigh. While I opened the window to give him air, and bathed his forehead with cold water, I dispatched a servant for a doctor.
The physician was soon beside me; but I quickly saw that the case was almost hopeless. His former disease had developed a new and, if possible, worse one—aneurism of the heart.
I will not speak of the hourly vacillations of hope and fear in which I passed that day and the following one. He had never regained consciousness; but the most threatening symptoms had considerably abated, and, in the physician’s eyes, he was better. On the afternoon of the third day, as I sat beside his bed, sleep overtook me in my watching, and I awoke feeling a hand within my own: it was Elgenheim’s.
Overjoyed at this sign of returning health, I asked him how he felt. A faint sigh, and a motion of his hand towards his side, was all his reply. Not daring to speak more, I drew the curtain, and sat still and silent at his side. The window, by the physician’s order, was left open, and a gentle breeze stirred the curtains lightly, and gave a refreshing air within the apartment. A noise of feet, and a hurried movement in the street, induced me to look out, and I now saw the head of an infantry battalion turning into the Platz. They marched in slow time, and with arms reversed. With a throb of horror, I remembered the deserter! Yes, there he was! He marched between two dismounted gendarmes, without coat or cap; a broad placard fixed on his breast, inscribed with his name and his crime. I turned instantly towards the bed, dreading lest already the tramp of the marching men had reached the sick man’s ear, but he was sleeping calmly, and breathing without effort of any kind.
The thought seized me, to speak to the officer in command of the party, and I rushed down, and making my way through the crowd, approached the staff, as they were standing in the middle of the Platz. But my excited manner, my look of wild anxiety, and my little knowledge of the language, combined to make my appeal of little moment.
“If it be true, sir,” said a gruff old veteran, with a grisly beard, “that he was an Officer of the Empire, the fire of a platoon can scarcely hurt his nerves.”
“Yes, but,” said I, “there is a circumstance of his life which makes this ten-fold more dangerous—I cannot explain it—I am not at liberty—”
“I do not desire to learn your secrets, sir,” replied the old man rudely; “stand back, and suffer me to do my duty.”
I turned to the others, but they could give me neither advice nor assistance, and already the square was lined with soldiers, and the men of the “death party” were ordered to stand out.
“Give me at least time enough to move my friend to a distant chamber, if you will not do more,” said I, driven to madness; but no attention was paid to my words, and the muster roll continued to be read out.