"Come, come, my dear boy, you are low-spirited—I know it. But take the box; I bought the bread at one place and the fruits at another."
The prince stretched forth his hand and eagerly took a small mahogany casket bound with steel, which was passed to him through the wicket.
"Good night, or, rather, good day, Arnold."
"Adieu, Frank."
And with these few, hasty words, the wicket was quickly closed.
Not far from the door was a bed composed of two thick and silky bear-skins, spread over a large divan. On this couch Arnold seated himself, placing the box on a small, curiously wrought ebony table, on which lay a pair of loaded pistols. Taking a key, which was also on this table, he opened the casket, which contained merely a small loaf just fresh from the oven, and some winter fruits.
"Arnold de Hansfeld threw himself back on his bed, and wept bitterly."
The prince regarded these eatables, worthy of an anchorite, with a species of mistrust, as though his suspicions struggled with his appetite. However, he broke the loaf in half, and after closely examining it, and even smelling it, he lifted it to his lips, but suddenly changing his intention, he threw it from him with terror, then, concealing his face in his hands, Arnold de Hansfeld threw himself back on his bed, and wept bitterly.