“That he may rejoice before he dies!” she had said, as her prophetic vision passed away.
And would he indeed be doomed to die under the blows of his executioners? Were those heart-rending words one of the cruel, mocking delusions with which hope inspires us?
Christian was imprisoned, and his efforts paralyzed by the prudence of the major. A quarrel between them on this subject was imminent, and although he knew the danger of attempting to escape through the crumbling wall of the old tower, he preferred running this risk to measuring his strength with one of the excellent friends that Providence had sent him. When he had before seen this accidental opening in the wall, he was too far away, and too much preoccupied, to observe it closely. The fog was slowly dissipating, but the light was still vague and dim. However, Karine had passed through it.
“My God!” he said, “let my devotion inspire me with the supernatural faculties which we sometimes see exerted in delirium.”
Knowing well that skill and caution would be of no use now, since he could not see two steps before him, the child of the lake, trusting to the continual miracle of his destiny, ran swiftly down a path by which he had not ventured to ascend during the day.
[XIX.]
CHRISTIAN reached the manor of Waldemora before the major, who set out at once to join him, but who had to put himself at the head of his little troop, and to give them orders, had succeeded in making more than half the distance. He found the doors of the courts open, and the whole place brilliantly illuminated, as usual during the festivities. There was a great deal of bustle and confusion on the staircase, but of an unusual kind. No more beautiful ladies elegantly dressed, no more handsome gentlemen with powdered hair, were now to be seen, moving gayly to and fro to the sound of Rameau’s music, and exchanging, as they met, stately bows or gracious smiles. In their place were busy servants carrying trunks, and making all haste to load sleighs. Almost all the visitors at the chateau were preparing to depart. Some were whispering in low voices in the corridors, while others had shut themselves up in their rooms to take a few hours’ repose, after giving orders for the journey.
What was occurring? Every one was so agitated, that Christian, booted, with his head bare, his coat torn and stained with blood, and his hunting-knife in his belt, was scarcely noticed. The servants made way for him instinctively, without asking themselves who was this belated hunter, taking them by storm in this way, and seeming resolved to knock them all down rather than be kept waiting a single second.
Christian accordingly crossed the hunting-gallery, where a number of persons, with faces strangely agitated, were wandering restlessly about. Among them he recognized several who had been pointed out to him at the ball as the baron’s presumptuous heirs. They seemed very much excited, were whispering together, and anxiously watching a certain door, as if expecting every instant to see it thrown open by the bearer of some important intelligence.
Without giving them time to observe him closely, or to understand what he was doing, Christian crossed this door, which he concluded would lead to the baron’s apartments; but, as he was passing through quite a long corridor, he heard horrible groans. He hurried on in the direction from which they came, and, entering an open door, found himself in the presence of Stangstadius, who was sitting quietly reading a paper by a little lamp with a shade, and who did not seem in the least disturbed by the fearful lamentations which could be heard in this room even more distinctly than in the corridor.